


Our Paths They Did Cross

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:32:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected tumblr prompts for 2016! Bellamy/Clarke, unless otherwise noted. Chapter titles will have prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said when you were drunk/things you said that made me feel like shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 308, spoilers.

It occurs to Clarke only when Monty mentions, in passing, that Bellamy was dating a girl who was working as a bartender for a while, that she’s never actually seen him drunk, or even close to drunk. The part of her that can’t forgive herself reminds her that it’s because she left when he said they deserved a drink, but even leaving that aside, he’s never really drunk in excess that she can remember.

Maybe it’s unfair of her, to assume he was dating a bartender because he was getting shitfaced all the time, so instead she says, “You guys had a bar?”

“We were a fully-functioning society,” says Monty, with a twist of his mouth that makes her ache. “I wouldn’t mention her, though. She died when they blew up Mount Weather.”

Clarke has a list a mile long of things she’s never mentioning; Bellamy’s dead girlfriend is an easy addition.

Except she’s not. It actually tugs at her, wondering what they were like. Bellamy’s never had a girlfriend that she’s witnessed, which, okay, it’s not surprising. She didn’t know him on the Ark, but she thinks he probably didn’t have a girlfriend there, either. After all, he had Octavia to protect, and even after he didn’t, and she doubts either of those periods in his life really lent themselves to serious relationships. And she knows what he was like for two months, and then there’s this chasm, three months where she was gone, and he had a girlfriend and a life that all fell apart.

It was a coincidence, that it fell apart right after he found her. She’s sure it was. She didn’t destroy what he had, not in any way she could really blame herself for.

But he didn’t do anything wrong with the Mount Weather explosion either, not really, and he still blames himself. Bellamy Blake: world champion of guilt.

When she asks, Monty gives her a bottle of moonshine without hesitation, and she goes to find him.

It’s hard to say how the two of them are doing, because, when she thinks about it, they’ve never really had a baseline for their relationship. She doesn’t know why the ten days or so when they were leading together, a team in charge of a mess of kids, feels like how they’re supposed to be, except that it’s what she wants to go back to. Her favorite world is the one where she turns and finds Bellamy somewhere close, where when she has a question, he’s the one she asks, and vice versa. They aren’t back there, and it hurts, but--maybe that’s never where they were supposed to be. Maybe that’s not who they are.

Bellamy thinks that; she’s not convinced yet. She’s not ready to give up on it.

“I brought you that drink,” she tells him.

He glances at her. His hair is falling in his eyes all the time now, this shaggy mess that makes her smile, and then feel bad for smiling. “Which?” he asks.

“The one you really need.”

He snorts out a little laugh. “Is this when we talk about what I need?”

“If that doesn’t involve heavy drinking, we’re doing it wrong.”

She can tell he’s trying not to smile. She knows him. She still knows him. “You know this tastes like gasoline, right?”

“What were you doing drinking gasoline?”

“Times were tough,” he says, straight-faced. Then he looks around, scrubs his hand over his mouth. “Not here.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

They go to his room, which Clarke hasn’t actually been to before. She doesn’t let herself look around, doesn’t let herself be curious. Once they’ve figured everything else out, she can be curious about him again.

For now, she sits down on the bed, because it’s the place there is to sit, and takes a long swig. “Wow. I’d honestly rather have the gasoline.”  
He huffs another little laugh, accepts the jug when she offers it. “Yeah, you really missed out.”

It’s too soon to push, so she just waits, toeing off her shoes. There’s a long second where her breath chokes, but he sits next to her, takes a long drink himself.

“I thought Monty said he was getting better at this.”

Bellamy thinks it over, and then says, “He got out of practice. He wouldn’t make it for Jasper.”

“I guess he wouldn’t, yeah.” And then, after they’ve passed the bottle back and forth a few times, she says. “You never really drank much.”

“No.”

“Why not? You talked about it.”

“If I was drunk and something bad happened--”

“You’d sober up.”

“Not enough.”

“So, you don’t think anything bad is going to happen right now?” she asks.

“I think it would be hard for anything worse to happen.”

Clarke nudges his shoulder; she’s not drunk, but she’s getting loose, and she misses him like something wide open inside her. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but he’s the only person she aches for like this who isn’t gone. He’s right here, and she knows it’s her fault, that she’s the one who put the distance between them.  
That’s why she’s going to fix it.

“Don’t say that. It can always get worse.”

“Thanks, you always know just what to say.”

She wets her lips. “Not for a while, no.”

He looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching. “You do, though. Everything I’ve ever needed to hear, you’ve said it. You always say the right things. It’s what you do that’s the problem.”

He’s not even drunk yet, so this is going to get worse before it gets better. But if it doesn’t get worse, it’s never going to get better either.

“I know,” she says. She lets out a breath, takes another drink. She’s getting used to the way it burns down her throat. “It didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong. Not--I wasn’t doing anything, you know? That’s what it felt like. I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t do anything. But--that’s sending a pretty clear message, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss you,” she finally says. “I missed you the whole time.”

“Like I said, you always say the right things.”

“I know.” She pushes the jug back at him. “I don’t know what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

“That’s what this is about?”

She tries to figure it out. She’s definitely getting drunk. “When I thought about you guys, I thought you were--happy. I don’t know. I thought you’d figure out a way to settle down. And I don’t now what you’re like, when nothing is going wrong. I know what I thought, but--I want to know for sure. I want to get to know you when things are good.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

“I want to know you when things are bad too.”

“Are you drunk?”

“A little. I’m an honest drunk, though.” She nudges him again. “What about you?”

“Depends,” he says. He takes a long drink. “First time I got drunk, I was sixteen.”

“Really?”

“I was--fuck, I was so tired, you know? O was ten, and she was getting so--it’s not her fault, her life sucked, of course she was pissed. But this guy from school, he said he had some booze, asked if I wanted to hang out. I knew my mom would be pissed, but it just sounded so good. I got drunk, and he was asking me why I was so serious all the time, and I thought about telling him. Just--”

“You’re an honest drunk.”

“But not a stupid one. I still knew better, but it sounded so fucking good. Telling someone.” His mouth twitches. “Then he told me I needed to lighten up and kissed me before I could do anything stupid, but I knew I couldn’t drink after that.”

“And then you got down here.”

“Yeah.”

She almost doesn’t say it, but--she knows. “You started after I left. Monty says you were friends with the bartender.”

He snorts. “That’s not what Monty said.”

“No.”

He takes another long pull. “Her name was Gina. She was friends with Raven. She was--fuck. She was great. She didn’t take any shit and she liked me. I didn’t deserve her.”

“You deserve that. That’s really--that’s kind of the minimum for a relationship, honestly. It’s not much to ask for.”

“I’m not good for the minimum of a relationship,” he says, and it might be true, but she thinks he deserves it anyway. If that’s what he wants. “I was--I was such a fucking mess. And I didn’t want to be. I figured I just--if I tried, maybe I wouldn’t be.”

“Honest drunk,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, I never let her give me more than two drinks.”

She leans into his side, and he doesn’t tense. He leans back. 

An honest drunk.

“Do you want to talk about her?” she asks, and then corrects it to, “Do you want to tell me about her?”

“Do you want to tell me about Lexa?” The way he says it, it’s curious. It doesn’t feel like the start of a fight.

“I don’t know what to say about her. It was--easy, I guess. I didn’t have to do anything.” She swallows. “That sounds awful. I didn’t--it wasn’t--”

“I get it.”

“You don’t have to make it easy. You never do.”

“I know. But I do get it.” He rests his head on hers. “I did what Pike wanted because he--he made me feel like he was listening, but I didn’t have to be in charge. And I was fucking tired of being in charge. At least you left, so you weren’t fucking stuff up here.”

“I still was, though.” Her fingers brush his as they take the bottle back. “I was fucking stuff up remotely. I’m just that good.”

“Don’t brag.”

She has to smile. “Yeah, arrogance is so unbecoming.” She swallows. “I told myself I was helping.” It doesn’t do much good, if she doesn’t get it out. “I told myself it was what was best for you all. If we could make peace--”

“If the only way we could have peace was losing you, I didn’t want it. What the fuck kind of peace is that, when you have to be there to make sure it doesn’t break? Watching her every move because if you don’t, she might turn on us again? That’s not fucking peace, that’s--” He shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw. “Sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“No, you should. If I knew any bad shit to say about your girlfriend, I’d be saying it now.”

Every time he huffs, it sounds more like a real laugh. “No, she was perfect. You’ve got nothing.”

“Yeah, but your boyfriend got you drunk to make a move on you, so I’ve got better taste in guys.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. And he never massacred a village, so--” He flops back on the bed, but he really is smiling now. “Jesus. This is fucked up.”

She flops back too. “Yeah.”

“What are you getting me drunk to do?”

“Talk to you.”

“That’s worse than getting me drunk to make a move on me.”

She swallows hard. “Do you not want to talk? When you’re sober?”

He’s quiet for so long. “I want to not want to,” he says. “Fuck, Clarke. We barely know each other, you know? Two months, and how much of that were we at each other’s throats?”

“About two weeks.”

“How much of that we were together?”

“The whole time,” she says, and she means it. 

“But you left.”

“Yeah. I left.” She closes her eyes. “I thought you’d be okay. I thought--I don’t know. I thought you’d have everyone. Raven and Octavia and Miller and Lincoln and--I didn’t think I was leaving you alone.”

“No. But you were still leaving me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Did you--” He lets out a long breath. “Did you think it was the right call?”

“The first time, yeah. The first time it was. In Polis--” She licks her lips. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to go back, but I didn’t know how to leave either. I wanted to--I was worried. I wanted to be close, if something went wrong. But it wasn’t the right call. Because even when stuff went wrong, I couldn’t help.”

“So what would you do now? If you could go back?”

“How far back can I go?”

He laughs at that, really laughs. “Shit.”

“Right?”

“Okay, so--where would you go?”

She rolls into his side, and he puts his arm around her. It’s so much comfort, she almost can’t think. “Unity Day. I wouldn’t go with Finn.”

“I wouldn’t take Raven’s radio.”

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

“Three-hundred people would be alive.” He swallows hard. “Maybe nine-hundred.”

“You didn’t kill those people.” She curls against him. “I meant with us. I don’t know if--fuck.”

“If I hadn’t felt so fucking shitty, you never would have liked me?” he asks, but he sounds amused.

“It sounds bad, when you say it.”

“Everything sounds bad when we say it.”

“Most of them would have died anyway. When the Ark came down.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m so sorry, Bellamy,” she finally says. 

She’s not sure what she expects, but what he says is, “I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Just because I know you feel bad doesn’t mean I can forgive you.”

“I guess not.”

“I want to, though. I’m going to.”

She presses her face against his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She makes to roll away, but his arm tightens around her, firm and unyielding. Possessive, she thinks. “You don’t have to leave,” he says.

She lets out a shaky breath. “Good. I didn’t really want to.”

She wakes up with a headache, tangled up in him. Her mouth tastes like a junkyard, she assumes, and the sun is slanting into her eyes.

“You have the worst window,” she tells him.

“I usually wake up early,” he says, voice dry and ragged. He clears his throat, and she feels him swallow. But he doesn’t speak for a while anyway. Finally, he just says, “Good morning.”

She smiles. “Good morning to you too.”


	2. things you said with too many miles between us

**Clarke** : did u know there is nothing in wyoming

**Me:** Did you not know there was nothing in wyoming? I thought everyone knew.

*

Clarke’s family does road trips, which does not make sense to Bellamy. He sort of assumed the reason people did road trips was because they couldn’t afford to just fly wherever they wanted to go. If he’s going to go somewhere, he’d rather spend the time actually being there, versus taking three days to get there and three days to get back.

But he never really goes anywhere anyway, so what does he know?

“No, you’re right,” Clarke says. She’s calling him from their hotel in South Dakota. “It’s weird. It’s about, you know, appreciating the majesty of this beautiful country that is our home.”

“Uh huh.”

“There’s some cool scenery. But there’s also just a lot of absolutely nothing.”

“Like the entire state of Wyoming.”

“Yellowstone’s there, we drove through, it was cool. But that’s about it, yeah. And we’re taking the _scenic route_.”

“At least you’re not just working all spring break,” he points out. “I’m not even leaving campus.”

“I know,” she says, with a sigh. “Sorry for complaining.”

“In your defense, you’re in South Dakota.”

She laughs, and he aches a little. He and Clarke are-- _something_. They’re at the point in their relationship where it feels like they’re teetering on the edge, where they get drunk and flirt and cuddle, but they’re not actually a couple, and he hasn’t figured out how to tip them over the edge yet. He honestly hadn’t expected her to call, had nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his phone buzzing, but--he’s really glad she did.

“What’s wrong with South Dakota? Is there something specific I don’t know, or do you just sort of assume the entire midwest is a black hole?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not so far, but I’ll keep you posted. Also, you’re in Ohio, don’t talk.”

“I never said my life was better than yours.”

“How’s campus?”

“Boring. Quiet. I’m drinking alone a lot.”

“Sounds pretty standard, honestly.”

“What really gets me is that you flew, from Ohio to California, just so you could drive to Wisconsin. The long way.”

“Right? It does not make any sense. But it’s family bonding.”

“Sounds shitty. I’m glad my family doesn’t bond.”

“You and your sister are more bonded than anyone in my family ever will be. I think you’re set.” She sighs. “My parents are coming back, I should go.”

“Was there a point to this call?” he blurts out, and then feels stupid. It’s not like he needs her to have a reason; he likes talking to her. He doesn’t want her to stop calling.

“Not really. I’m in a motel in South Dakota. Do I need much more of a reason?”

“Nah. You can call any time.”

*

**Clarke:** I’m so bored.

**Me:** I’m at work. Like an adult.

**Clarke:** are you saying you’re not bored at work?

**Me:** I’m saying I’m bored in a more mature way than you are. I’m bored on a different, adult level.

**Clarke:**  oh yeah, your boredom is way better than mine.

**Me:** As always, I’m superior in every way.

**Clarke:** can’t believe I forgot.

*

“So, are you just going to die over the summer?” Octavia asks. “Like, it’s been three days and you’re freaking out if your girlfriend doesn’t text every fifteen minutes."

“She’s not my girlfriend and I’m not freaking out,” he grumbles. At least his sister came to visit for the break. She’s mostly hanging out in his dorm room playing video games, but it’s nice to see her when he’s around. And she likes getting a break from their mom. “She’s going through a lot of areas with no reception.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want you moping around at home all summer.”

“Good news, I’ll probably be working on campus again. So I’ll be moping around on campus and you don’t have to know.” His phone buzzes, and he glances down to see it’s Clarke calling. “If I take this, are you going to make fun of me?”

“I’m going to make fun of you anyway.”

“Cool, that’s what I figured.”

*

**Clarke:** the real problem is that the roadtrip is over, but now i’m in wisconsin with my grandmother and her incontinent overbred teacup poodle

**Me:** Is there any part of this country you don’t hate?

**Clarke:** you’re the one who’s prejudiced against the entire midwest

I don’t hate the part you’re in

**Me:** So, Ohio?

**Clarke:** no, just whichever part you’re in

that’s the part I don’t hate

*

He gets back from work on Friday to find Clarke playing video games on his futon with Octavia. He stares for a minute, and then drops his bag and sits down next to her, heavy.

“It’s only like six hours to drive down here.”

“Really?”

“Maybe a little closer to seven.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “Wisconsin sucked, my parents said I was moping, and you felt really--it’s not that long a drive, you know?”

He finds her hand and squeezes, isn’t nervous about it, somehow. And she squeezes back. “Yeah. Not far at all.”

*

She kisses him goodbye before she goes on Tuesday.

“I can’t believe you’re driving back to Wisconsin just to drive back to California and then fly back here, when you could stay and make out with me for the next week,” he teases, settling his hands on her hips. He’s not quite able to let her go yet.

“Well, I did take the car,” she says. “So if I didn’t go back, my parents would be stranded.”

“Still.”

“Still,” she agrees, and kisses him again.

“Total waste of time and money.”

“And hookup opportunities. But I guess you can enjoy the natural splendor of our country or some shit.”

“That’s the plan.” One more kiss, and she steps out of his arms. “Back on Sunday.”

“Have fun in the boring states.”

“Have fun with your boring life,” she shoots back, and she’s gone.

But he feels a lot better.

*

**Clarke:** today’s state I don’t care about is nebraska

**Me:** I like Nebraska

**Clarke:** based on what?

**Me:** You’re there.


	3. Monty/Miller - things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

“I can’t look at this anymore,” Nate says, groaning and putting his head down on the desk next to the keyboard.

“What is it?” Monty asks, not turning away from his own computer. “Which assignment?”

“Uh, I’m programming a snake game?” he asks. “And it’s not working.”

Monty leans over, and Nate can feel the heat of his chest against his shoulder. He didn’t start taking computer science because Monty is always in the comp sci lab programming shit, but–he might have been a factor. Just a little bit.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that one. Do you want me to send you the one I did last year? You can take a look and see if it helps you figure out where yours went wrong. I’d just volunteer to help, but--”

Nate smirks. “You’re working on an actual AI that’s gonna rise up and murder us, I can see why you don’t have time to help me with a dinky little snake game.”

“Hey, that dinky little snake game is the first step to programming murderous AIs. You’re going to get there.” He stretches. “Okay, I sent it. I’m heading to the bathroom. Watch my stuff?”

“Got anything good for me to steal?”

“Definitely not. All my stuff sucks.”

“Then yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Monty claps him on the shoulder as he leaves, and Nate leans back in his seat, muffling a yawn in his arm. He mostly _likes_  comp sci, and not just because it gives him an excuse to hang out in the lab with Monty for hours. But this stupid program really _is_  going to be the death of him.

He grabs Monty’s file off the email, has to snort because Monty’s code is immediately and obviously so much cleaner than his, it’s sad. Monty just writes nicer code than he does, because of course he does. Monty is a computer genius; Nate is an English major with a crush.

There is an odd kind of poetry to code, though, at least Monty’s code. It’s easy to follow, and he puts in comments, notes about why he did things the way he did, mostly for his own reference. Professor Sinclair never minds comments and asides, even ones that aren’t directly related to the content, so it’s not totally surprising Monty’s code is full of them. And Nate obviously loves every one, all his little asides and insights.

And then he hits, S _ome people have such nice lips and eyelashes it should be illegal, crushes are the worst_. Which is--honestly, it makes him go cold all over. Monty took this class last year, so it’s not like he has a crush _now_ , necessarily, but it’s still jarring. Is that what Monty’s into? Lips and eyelashes? It’s probably not _all_  he’s into, but Nate has never really put much thought into those particular features. Does he have good ones? How would he know?

He texts Bellamy, _how are my eyelashes_ , just because, and then Monty comes back and slides in next to him. 

“Did that help?” he asks.

_I really can’t answer that question without a selfie_ , Bellamy says. _Or even with a selfie, actually. But you’re super pretty._

“Definitely,” says Nate. “Thanks.”

*

The next week, he’s doing a simple boolean search program, nothing he can’t handle on his own, but--well, now he’s kind of curious.

“This is screwing up,” he tells Monty. “Do you have your file?”

“Yeah, sure,” Monty says, absent. He’s got one pen in his mouth and one pen stuck behind his ear and another in his hand, because he’s really, really absent-minded when he’s programming. Nate _loves_  the computer lab. “Sent.”

The comment this time is right at the end, just a simple, _Flirting is so hard, how do I boys_.

The next week, it’s _I am going to die alone. With my code. I just want to make out with a cute boy, why can’t I do that? Android boyfriend. I’m gonna get there._

It’s not until then that Nate realizes if Monty was dropping random sexually frustrated comments into his coding last year, he might _still_  be doing it. And, okay, maybe Nate is kind of an asshole for wondering, but it’s not like Monty isn’t sending him the files. He probably knows the comments are there. They’re his comments. Nate’s not doing anything _that_  weird.

So when Monty takes off to grab them some stuff from the vending machine, Nate slides his chair over in front of Monty’s computer. He’s programming in C++, while Nate is still on Java, so it’s like a foreign language, but the comments are easy to spot, as engaging as Monty’s notes always are, explanations and asides and--

_It is very hard to concentrate on coding when the boy you like is RIGHT THERE #siriwhydoesgodallowsuffering_

It’s sort of possible that Monty means someone else; he could code other times. With other boys. But then he hits  _tfw you can’t remember if you sent your crush code with notes about him_  and that’s _got_  to be him.

He’s Monty’s crush. He’s been Monty’s crush for _a year_. Professor Sinclair knows about him. He’s probably been following this saga. He’s probably _invested_.

When Monty gets back, he’s at his own computer again, working on a new program. Nothing complicated, nothing for school, just--something.

He finishes it in an hour and yawns and cracks his neck.

“Done?” Monty asks.

“For now, yeah. Can you make sure this works?”

“You can’t?”

“I want another set of eyes. It’s got a couple options? Different answer trees. So I wouldn’t mind backup.”

“Yeah, no problem. What do I do?”

“Hit enter until it starts asking questions,” says Nate. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He knows the program works. Right now, it’s telling Monty, _So, I read your notes. I was really jealous of this mysterious guy you were into with nice lips and eyelashes. But then today I read your notes on the program you’re actually working on, so, is it me? Please say yes._

If he says no, the program will say, _He’s a really lucky guy, then._

If he says yes, it will say, _Do you want to get dinner tomorrow?_

If he says no to that, it says _Another time or never?_

If he says yes or offers another time, ASCII fireworks. It’s not a great program, but, well, Nate’s not a great programmer. It’s probably at least a little bit romantic.

He gets back and there are fireworks errupting on Monty’s screen; he’s grinning.

“I think it works,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nate agrees. He leans in to kiss him, finally, tasting Coke and Butterfingers from his last snack, feeling the faint scrape of Monty’s stubble on his. It’s not exactly what he’s dreamed of, but it’s still fucking perfect.

“I still need to finish coding this,” Monty murmurs. “It’s due tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nate agrees. They’re still kissing, between words.

“But I could take like fifteen minutes.”

“I can work with fifteen minutes. For a start.”

“For a start,” Monty agrees.

Nate _really_  loves the comp sci lab. It’s so private, this late at night.


	4. college au: my roommate keeps hooking up so I need to crash in your room(/bed) a lot

Bellamy does not mean to adopt his little sister's friends. He doesn't. He's honestly expecting Octavia to want nothing to do with him for the single year they overlap at college, in the grand tradition of younger siblings everywhere, but instead, she wants to hang out, merge their friend groups, and generally interact a lot. He's suspicious, and apparently rightfully so, because Clarke, his favorite of her friends, fills him in on the situation after a couple months, apparently for the good of the group.

"Lincoln," she says.

"No, Bellamy. Lincoln's in the living room. How drunk are you?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "I meant, Lincoln is why Octavia always wants to hang out here. And then the rest of us come because you have beer. So don't be weird about her and Lincoln, or I'll stop getting beer, and I want beer."

"Wow. You should join the debate team," he says. "Is anything--are they dating?" He's not sold on his ex-boyfriend dating his sister, except he knows Lincoln is a good guy and an excellent boyfriend, so it's honestly probably better than his sister hooking up with some random frat boy. Granted, Lincoln's in grad school, two years older than Bellamy and five years older than Octavia, but--still probably better than a frat boy. Way less douchey.

"I don't think so. But they're definitely going to, and I don't want to turn my friend group into Romeo and Juliet. I'm doing really well with this college thing. Don't fuck it up for me."

"Seriously, debate team," he says. "You make such compelling arguments."

"I'm just saying, you're not getting rid of us, so don't be a weirdo. It'll just be awkward for you."

"Good pep talk," he mutters, and she pats him on the shoulder.

He's tempted, for about five minutes, to try to get out of the whole thing, to avoid Octavia and her friends and make sure that she doesn't date Lincoln, but not only is it irrational and, frankly, stupid, he likes his sister's friends, and they like him, and Monty and Jasper manage to cause a minor explosion because they're trying to figure out what things they can and cannot microwave, so, really, if he abandons them, all these people will probably die.

"It's not even that much fire," Monty says, and Clarke rolls her eyes and shoots Bellamy a smile.

"There is no amount of fire that's acceptable fire," he says, firm.

"In case of emergency, call Bellamy?" she teases, once order is restored.

"Shut up."

"You're such a brother."

"I can still disown all of you."

"No, you definitely can't."

It's true, of course, and he develops a reputation among his sister's friends as being, well. The guy who will make sure everyone drinks water when they're drunk and gives up his bed when other people are too drunk to make it home. It's not like it's inaccurate, or even that he minds; he _is_ that guy. And he likes being that guy. It makes him feel valued, and gives him some much needed distance from his gaggle of freshman. The brother. He can be the older brother.

And then Clarke's roommate gets a boyfriend, and it becomes a problem.

Really, it was already a problem, because Clarke is his favorite in a really kind of intense, unfortunate way. She's cute and pretty and just as much of a mother hen as he is. They're always taking care of their drunk friends together, and then once everyone else is passed out, they'll watch Netflix and bicker about meaningless shit, and sometimes she falls asleep on his shoulder, which is always the highlight of any week where it happens.

So, yeah. That's bad, probably. Because she's his sister's age, and just because he's accepted that Lincoln and Octavia are together, that doesn't mean _he's_ going to date an eighteen-year-old. If he's dating a freshman, he can't be properly judgmental and superior.

But she's at his door in her pajamas, looking tired and a little exasperated, wearing her glasses and carrying a backpack. "Hi."

"Hey. Everything okay?"

"My roommate finally managed to hook up with this guy she's been into for, like, the entire year, so I need somewhere to crash."

"Oh, yeah, uh--" He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed for no good reason. It's late, almost one, and he was about to go to bed himself, just wearing pajama pants, and it's never really been just him and Clarke before. They usually have, well, witnesses. "Of course."

"I don't have to," she says quickly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have--I can see if Raven has room--"

"No, seriously." He gives her a smile. "Come in. I don't mind. Just haven't cleaned up."

It's a weak lie, but the relief is plain all over her face, and when he steps out of the door, she comes in without further protest. It's a little untidy in his room, but nothing compared to most college students, and Clarke gives him a fond smile.

"Yeah, it's a total disaster in here. I can see why you were embarrassed."

"Be nice, I'm letting you crash."

"Seriously, thank you."

"How awkward was it?"

"What?"

"I'm just trying to picture this scenario," he says, flopping down on his futon. After a split second of what looks like indecision, she joins him. "You're clearly all ready for bed, but you brought an overnight bag, so were they just, like, making out while you packed, or were they watching and waiting or what?"

She laughs. "Oh, yeah, no, like--honestly, Luna's great, I'm not mad at her or anything. She had him wait in the common room and she wanted to have a real discussion about if there was anywhere else they could go so I didn't have to leave, and I just told her not to worry about it, threw some clothes in a bag, and took off. I was halfway to Octavia's before I remembered she was--" She cuts herself off, and Bellamy snorts. None of them ever want to _say_ when Lincoln and Octavia are having sex, not to him, but it's not like it's not completely obvious every time. The awkward silence is a dead giveaway.

"Yeah, uh, I got it. I don't mind. You know you're always welcome."

But it is new. He and Clarke have always hung out in big groups, and it just being the two of them on the futon, mostly naked, is honestly a lot to handle. She must have showered before she came over, smells fresh and clean, and he loves her glasses. 

"Thanks," she says. She looks down at her lap. "It, uh--might come up more."

"Yeah?"

"I saw how Derrick was looking at her. They're serious. And he has a roommate too, so--"

"My bed's always open," he says, and makes a face. "That came out wrong."

She just laughs. "I'll take the futon."

"No, it's fine," he says. "I don't have class until noon tomorrow and you've got one at nine, right? Take the bed."

She considers for a minute, and then scoots toward him, settling in against his side. It's not new, exactly, but--they're _alone_. Everything feels new. "We can watch something first, right?"

"If you want, yeah."

She falls asleep on him during their first Archer, and once it's over, he carries her to his bed and tucks her in. He's done it for a lot of people before, but--none of them have been Clarke.

She curls into his pillow, making a soft, happy noise, and he isn't sure if he's hoping this never happens again, or if he wants Luna and Derrick to be really serious. 

Regardless of what he wants, they are serious, so Clarke comes over more and more. He stops locking his door, and he'll come home from class to just find her around, napping in his bed or reading on the futon or playing his Xbox. It's nice, in the sense that he likes having her there and always wants to spend more time with her, and awful, in the sense that no amount of time with her is ever enough, and she's sleeping _in his bed_ , without him, making him feel stupid with how much he wants her and doesn't get her.

"Has Clarke actually moved her stuff into your place yet?" Octavia asks him, two months after Luna gets her boyfriend.

"She doesn't live with me, so, no."

"Derrick's moved his stuff into her room, so I figured she was just giving up on, like, living there."

Bellamy frowns. Clarke doesn't even sleep over every night. It's just, like--okay, it's probably three times a week, at least, sometimes more, and she hangs out a lot when she's not sleeping over, just doing her homework or judging his Netflix queue. He hasn't dated anyone in a while, but he always likes domestic stuff, having someone around for company. He doesn't actually like being alone that much.

He wouldn't mind if she moved in. Obviously, it would be better if he stopped sleeping on the futon, but even if he's killing his back, he'd rather have Clarke around. And he's not thinking about the two of them sharing his bed. Because--he's not. She's staying with him for logical, practical reasons. Because she's a considerate roommate.

"Not as far as I know," he says, shrugging. "I haven't cleared space in my dresser or anything."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Don't be a dumbass, Bell."

"But it's all I know," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

It's a week after that when Clarke says, "It's stupid for you to sleep on the futon."

"What?"

"I'm here all the time, kicking you out of your bed. I know you're never going to just take it and let me sleep on the couch, so we should share."

He doesn't choke, but he's not sure how he doesn't. By all rights, he should choke.

Instead, he says, very normally, "My bed is the size of a postage stamp."

"I'll be the big spoon," Clarke says. "It's fine, seriously."

It's not fine. It's weird. He _knows_ it's weird. He doesn't share beds with any of his other friends, and he wouldn't. If Miller wanted to crash, he would--okay, he would spoon Miller, but it would be in some kind of spooning chicken situation, where they'd just keep escalating to show how okay they were with spooning, until they were both naked and cuddling and aggressively not having sex with each other, because they tried it once freshman year and it just wasn't them.

Which, okay, he can also imagine that happening with Clarke, except he really, really wants to have sex with her.

"The futon is comfortable," he lies.

"Bellamy. I feel bad. I'm kicking out of your bed for half the week. Just get in here, okay?"

He swallows hard, but--she's wearing pajamas, and so is he, and it's not totally platonic friendship, but she's offering, right? So she thinks it's normal, if nothing else. And if she's not going to point out that this is fucked up, he isn't going to either.

Instead, he pulls off his shirt and gets into bed with her. It's impossible to not touch her, because it's a twin bed, and there's just no _room_. 

And Clarke just slides her arm around him, rests her forehead against his shoulder. "Better, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "Better."

Miller's the one who finally calls him out on it, which honestly makes sense. Miller's his best friend, and the person most likely to call him out in most situations. Except Clarke, and she's clearly--well, whatever she's doing, calling him out isn't involved.

Miller comes over to play video games and finds Clarke is just asleep in Bellamy's bed. It's two pm on a Thursday, so she can't possibly be sexiled. It doesn't bother him, but--it's kind of weird, with Miller around. Not that it isn't weird without Miller, but he got used to it, somehow. Clarke's never made a big deal of it, and that makes it easy for him not to think about it either.

But Miller just looks at the bed and then back to Bellamy, eyes raised. "Dude."

"Dude."

"How unsubtle does she have to be?"

"What?"

"She's literally sleeping in your bed. Do you guys share?" Bellamy doesn't say anything, but apparently his expression and blush are answer enough. "Jesus. You like her?"

He glances at the bed, because having this conversation with her here seems incredibly risky. Even if she's asleep. 

"Shut up," he says, by way of answer.

"Look, sometimes this shit is, like, ambiguous. This is the opposite of that. This is the least ambiguous thing I have ever witnessed."

He glances at the bed again. "Yeah. You might be right."

They start up the game, and Clarke wakes up about an hour in, gets off the bed and tucks herself against him, snuggling against his side.

In retrospect, Miller _has_ to be right.

They hit the dining hall for dinner and Clarke follows him back to his room. He's got an essay to work on and she's got a biology problem set, and it's familiar, him on his laptop and her with her feet in his lap. It feels like it should make it harder to concentrate, but somehow, it doesn't. Shitty papers are a lot less shitty, with her around.

Her phone buzzes, and she glances down, bites her lip. "Oh, um. Derrick's roommate went home for the weekend. So my room's free."

"Oh."

She looks down at her own computer. "Can I just finish this off?"

"Yeah, of course."

That shatters his concentration completely, and he just sort of stares at his paper while she finishes. Because--he was looking forward to it, and now he's not only losing her for tonight, but he's not going to have her for the whole weekend, because Luna's gone. Not that she won't hang out, but--

"Okay," she says, closing the laptop and startling him from his thoughts. "I guess I'll just--go home?"

"You don't have to." He swallows, smiles at her. "I probably should have just kissed you the first time we actually slept together, right? That was definitely the time."

She bites her lip, but she's still smiling. "I didn't think it was subtle, no."

"I didn't want to be a creep."

"Bellamy."

"I know." He leans in, and her smile widens. She looks fucking _radiant_ , and his last lingering doubt evaporates. She responds to his mouth instantly, her hand coming up to tangle in his hair and grip like she's been thinking about it for a while, and when he slides his tongue against her lips, she opens for him with a moan. 

"You could have said something," he says, after she's dragged him into bed, pushed him down and ridden his face and his dick. She's gorgeous, which he knew, but everything else is a surprise. She's pushy and vocal, laughing and gasping and praising him non-stop. 

He should have done this so much sooner.

"Hm?" she asks, snuggling against his chest. She's so, so gorgeous. It's possible he didn't actually know. She's even better than he thought.

"I'm pretty bad at non-verbal cues."

She laughs. "I didn't want to make it weird."

"Uh huh. It started weird and got weirder. So--"

"So, shut up. It worked, right?"

"You're a criminal mastermind," he tells her, and she leans up to press another kiss against his lips.

"I'm very convincing. I should join the debate team or something."

He grins and rolls her over for a much longer kiss. "Wow, what a great idea."

"Right?" she asks. "Genius."

The next day, she brings some of her clothes over after her classes are done.

"It's more convenient, right?"

Bellamy's face has been stuck on a smile all day. "Yeah," he agrees. "Just makes sense."


	5. Bellamy is a student crisis counselor, and Clarke comes in during a crisis... then keeps coming in because hot Bellamy is hot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content note: Per the chapter title, this fic does include Bellamy as a non-professional peer counselor ending up in a relationship with Clarke, so please be aware of that if you're not comfortable with this power dynamic.

“You are going to hell,” Monty tells her.

“That’s not news,” Clarke says. “I’m not religious, so if that’s a requirement, I’m already out. Bisexual, also usually frowned on. I lie a lot, pre-marital sex, all the drinking–”

“And you’re a terrible person.”

“And I’m a terrible person,” she grants, inclining her head. “But, not, like--”

“Nope,” Monty says. “Don’t try to justify this one. You’re faking a crisis because you think the crisis counselor is hot.”

“It’s not _fake_. I really did have an argument with my mom.”

“About _Jeopardy_. It’s not a crisis.”

“Okay, so it’s not as much of a crisis as the first time I went in. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a crisis.”

The first time Clarke went to the student crisis center, she was having a panic attack because it was the anniversary of her dad’s death and she actually witnessed a fucking car crash, which was so bad she couldn’t just drink her way out of it. Raven had basically shoved her onto the bus and taken her to the center without Clarke really knowing what was happening.

Someone had brought her tea, and she hadn’t really seen him at first either.

“Here,” he said.

She startled. “What?”

His smile was soft; she remembers that clearly. “Tea.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He sat down next to her and didn’t say anything. When she finished the tea, he brought her another one, and she wasn’t sure when or how she started talking, but the words somehow spilled out easily.

The next day, she went back to thank him, because she hadn’t even gotten his _name_ , but she’d felt so much better. She didn’t even remember what he looked like, exactly, so she just sort of wandered in without much of a plan.

“Hi, can I help you?” asked the girl at the desk, and Clarke _did_  recognize her.

“Gina, right? Raven’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

“She brought me in yesterday and someone--I talked to someone? And I didn’t get his name or thank him or anything but I think he was--dark hair? Glasses, maybe?”

“Bellamy,” said Gina, with a smile. “It’s okay, I’m sure he wasn’t offended.”

“Yeah, but--is he around?”

Before Gina could answer, the guy came out from the back. She hadn’t remembered he was a few inches taller than she was, but the messy black hair and glasses were familiar. The broadness of his shoulders and the tightness of his shirt she’d missed entirely, and the freckles on his face were a total surprise.

He was, in short, so fucking hot.

“Oh, hey,” he said, offering a small smile. “Clarke, right?”

“Yeah, hi.”

“Everything okay? Do you want to come in?”

She’d been planning to just thank him. Really, she had. But he was really, really attractive, and she was still a little ragged around the edges, and she didn’t honestly remember talking to him that well, but she knew it helped.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

And she’s been finding excuses to go back ever since, because Bellamy is smart and funny and easy to talk to, and she doesn’t know any other ways to spend time with him. She tells him about how she’s thinking of dropping pre-med (true) and how awkward it’s been with her mom since her dad died (true) and about figuring out she was bisexual in high school and her kind of dramatic breakup with her first girlfriend (true, but not actually traumatic).

He told her when he’s on shift, and she makes sure to go in once a week, which is how she ended up here, walking to the crisis center with Monty, trying to figure out something she can possibly talk to him about for more than five minutes. She’s exhausted all her genuine issues; she just wants to see him.

“Can’t you just tell him you like him instead of looking up soap opera plots on wikipedia for inspiration?” Monty asks.

“It would be weird.”

Monty snorts. “Right, that would be weird. This isn’t, but that would cross a line.”

“You’re the one who’s following me. You love this.”

“I’m trying to stop you! This is basically an intervention.” He scowls at his phone. “How is there not an intervention app? I’m going to make an intervention app.”

“That’s your fortune, yeah. Are you coming in?”

“Just for a second. If he’s as hot as you say he is, I want to see him.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Clarke says. “Hey, Gina,” she adds, giving her a smile.

“Hi, Clarke. Sorry, Bellamy’s not here today. Family emergency.”

Clarke frowns. She actually knows a little about his family, he’s mentioned his sister, who lives at home with their mom, who’s an alcoholic, and a family emergency could be really bad. “Oh shit,” she says. “Um--tell him I hope everything’s okay?” She worries her lip. “It would probably be weird if I left my number, right? Just--in case he needs anything?”

Gina looks amused, which is better than looking creeped out, at least. “If you want to leave him a note, I’ll pass it along.”

Clarke jots down a quick note-- _Hi, hope everything’s okay with your family! I know you’re the crisis counselor but if I can help, just let me know,_ and then her number--and Gina promises she’ll give it to him.

It’s almost midnight when he texts: _Hey, it’s Bellamy. Everything’s fine, sorry I missed you. I’ll be back tomorrow as usual. Thanks for checking in, means a lot._

Monty’s dorm is across campus, but Clarke goes over to show him anyway. “See? Not creepy. _Appreciated_.”

“Yeah,” Monty says, with a distinctly patronizing smile. “Coming over in the middle of the night to prove you’re normal. Totally convincing. I can’t believe I doubted you.”

Clarke just sticks her tongue out and crashes on his futon.

*

Clarke ordinarily wouldn’t go back the next day, because it feels creepy, but she’s worried, and Bellamy _did_  say he’d be in. 

It’s a different person at the desk, a guy she doesn’t know, and when she says she’s here to see Bellamy, he says, “He’s with another student. Harper can see you.”

Clarke frowns. “Um, that’s okay. I’ll wait.”

The guy frowns back. “I assure you, all of our counselors are fully--”

Harper, whom Clarke vaguely knows, come out from the back, smiles when she spots Clarke. “Oh, hey! Bryan, this is Clarke. She’s waiting for Bellamy.”

Clarke doesn’t stick her tongue out at him, but she’s tempted. She’s waiting for Bellamy. Everyone knows she gets to wait for Bellamy. It’s not about _training_.

It’s a longer wait than usual, probably half an hour, but Clarke doesn’t mind. She kind of likes hanging out at the crisis center. It’s pretty quiet, and she’s not always good at taking time to herself when left to her own devices. While she waits for Bellamy, she doesn’t look at her books or her email, she just plays WordWhizzle and tries to come up with some plausible issue she could be having, in case he asks.

“Hey,” he says, startling her up from her phone. He’s leaning against his door, looking a little tired and worse for wear, with dark circles under his eyes, but his smiling. “I thought you might be by. Come on in.”

“You okay?” she asks. “Is your sister good?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.” He bites his lip, like he’s thinking about leaving it there, but then he admits, “She got home from school and my mom wasn’t breathing. We got her to the hospital, she’s fine, but--”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs, smile a little twisted. “I’d be lying if I said it was the first time. So, what’s up with you?”

Clarke’s definitely made up some shitty excuses for why she’s coming to the crisis center, but in the face of his actual crisis, all of the lies die in her mouth.

“Absolutely nothing.”

He laughs. “I assume you came by yesterday for a reason. Come on, hit me.”

“You’re cute,” she blurts out.

“Sorry?”

“I came by because you’re cute, and I like talking to you, but I feel shitty giving you some bullshit story when you actually had a real crisis, so I really just came in to make sure you were okay. Today. Yesterday it was--you’re cute.”

“So that’s why last week you came in to talk through the plot of an episode of _Jane the Virgin_  like it was your real life?” he asks. There’s a smile playing on his lips, but Clarke still blushes.

“Not the _whole_  plot,” she says, and his smile upgrades to a grin.

“Yeah, honestly, if you’d tried to bring in accidental artificial insemination or face-changing drug dealers, I probably wouldn’t have been able to let it go.”

“But you knew.”

He shrugs. “The first few seemed legit. After that, I was--honestly, I was hoping you thought I was cute, but my backup theory was that you just needed someone to talk to. I figured I’d find out eventually.”

“You are really good to talk to. So I’m not totally shallow.”

“Uh huh.”

“I said not _totally_.” 

“So, you don’t want to stop coming to the crisis center and get dinner with me instead?”

“I have to stop coming here?”

“Yeah, uh--I can’t really be your crisis counselor in any kind of official capacity if you’re dating me. It’s a conflict of interests. So you can either date me or keep coming here to talk to me on duty. I’m voting for you to date me. But it’s up to you. You can still talk to Harper or Miller, if you like coming here so much.”

“I guess that’s probably a good policy.” She grins. “So, when are you done?”

He glances at his laptop. “Twenty minutes.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you then.”

Harper winks at Clarke when she sees her back on the bench with her phone, and Clarke gives her a big smile. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the one she gives Bellamy when he finishes up.

“You know, it’s only four,” he says, offering her his hand and tugging her to her feet. “Too early for dinner. You didn’t have to wait.”

“I figured we could talk or something.”

Once they’re outside, he leans down to press his mouth against hers, quick, but firm and hot and more than enough to leave her wanting more. “I think we’ve talked plenty. But I could live with _or something_.”

She has to laugh. “Wow. So smooth.”

“I pick girls up in the crisis center, I don’t know what you were expecting.”

“How many girls?” she teases.

“Okay, I picked _a_  girl up in the crisis center. The point stands.”

She gives his fingers a squeeze. “This is basically exactly what I was expecting. Want to _or something_  in my dorm?”

“Love to.”

*

The next time she has a genuine crisis, she calls Bellamy right away. After all, what are boyfriends for?


	6. College AU with werewolf Bellamy

Clarke's RA introduces himself with, "Hi, I'm Bellamy, and we're required to do some stupid ice breaker games so I printed a list off the internet. First one, your name and one fact about yourself."

"That's not even really a game," says the guy sitting next to Clarke.

"Just for that, you're going first."

"Fine. My name's Monty, and I'm bisexual." He turns to Clarke, who is not at all prepared.

"Clarke, and he took mine."

"Doesn't count then. Do another one."

"I'm a cat person?" she tries. 

"Even worse. Next."

She doesn't think much of it, because, really, he's short and curt with everyone, and as facts go _I'm a cat person_ really is pretty pathetic, so she deserves some disdain. Mostly she saw that a girl across the circle from her was wearing a t-shirt with a cat on it, which reminded her of her own cat, and that was the first thing that came out. It was kind of inane, but not a big deal.

So it's really unfair that her RA starts calling her _cat girl_. Like, all the time. He'll walk by her open door and, when he sees she's home, stick his head in and say, "Everything okay, cat girl?" He introduces her to his sister at dinner a month into the year as, "Clarke, she likes cats." She runs into him at a party and he spends half an hour rambling at her, all about cats. "Hairballs, Clarke!" he tells her, earnest. Like this is a matter of life and death. "Seriously. Hairballs are fucking _gross_."

It's about two days after that that she realizes they became friends somehow, too.

"So, do you just really like dogs?" she asks him. They're at the library, because they realized they have pretty similar schedules, so Bellamy will stop by her room when he's going to the library, and she'll follow him because for all he is kind of a prickly weirdo, she really likes him. 

Which is its own problem.

"Everyone likes dogs. Dogs are great. Cats are assholes."

"So, do you not like cats because you're too similar?"

He actually chokes. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying. Dogs are, you know, loyal and enthusiastic and love everyone. And cats are kind of dicks who constantly run hot and cold, ignore people and then get pissed when they don't get attention, and like licking themselves. Sorry, you're all cat."

"I'm all cat," he repeats.

"Yup."

He's staring at her, mouth agape. "No," he finally says. "Just--no."

"I like cats," she says, smiling. "Nothing wrong with being a cat."

"There is everything wrong with being a cat," he grumbles. "Do your fucking homework."

As weird grudges to hold go, Clarke being a cat person really must be the weirdest, which is why she tells everyone about it. She tells Monty, who says, "Well, he's weird," which is true, but not helpful. She tells Raven, who says, "Is he hot? Is this why this is bothering you?" Which, yes, he is, and yes, it is, but that doesn't nullify the weirdness. That's unrelated to the weirdness. It's parallel to the weirdness.

She tells Wells, who says, "You do like cats."

"But I don't hate dogs or anything. And even if I did, who cares?"

"Maybe he's planning for your eventual marriage and he wants a dog and you want a cat, so it can never work."

"I'd get a dog," Clarke says, before she can think better of it, and Wells cackles.

Finally, in desperation, she asks Octavia, "Why is your brother _still_ calling me cat girl?"

"Do you still like cats?" Octavia asks.

"I don't see what's wrong with liking cats. It's not like I hate all other animals. I _like_ animals. Birds are cool. Dogs are fine. Horses, I really like horses."

"Does Bell know you like dogs?"

"I assume so. I just don't see why that matters. Does he base all of his interpersonal relationships on favorite animals?"

"Obviously not, or he wouldn't like you," Octavia says, bright. She roots around in her bag and produces what looks like a squeaky toy. It's shaped like a bone and is bright blue. "Can you give him this?"

"Why?" Clarke asks, accepting the toy. It does squeak when she squeezes it.

"Because I'm not going to see him for a few days, duh." She shoves her books in her bag. "Later."

It's as good an excuse as any for her to go visit Bellamy, and she really will take any excuse. His door is open and he's reading on his futon, so she just knocks on the door jamb. "Hi."

"Hey, cat girl," he says. "What's up?"

She pulls the bone out of her backpack and Bellamy--perks up. Like, very noticeably. He actually snaps to attention. Clarke would say his tail is wagging, except that he doesn't have a tail, so obviously that's ridiculous. 

Then he seems to realize what's happening and tries to play it cool. "Did you buy me a bone?" he asks.

Clarke wags it back and forth, experimentally. Bellamy definitely follows it with his eyes. "I was asking your sister why you care that I like cats. She was unhelpful, told me to give this to you, and left."

"Sounds like O."

"So, you want it?"

"Huh?" 

He's still staring at the toy as Clarke tosses it from hand to hand. He's trying not to look like he's staring, but he's so bad at it.

And when she throws it, he jumps up, catches himself, and does not chase it.

"I cannot believe that's a good present for you."

"It's--blue," he says, like this is a defense. And then, "It's blue, right?"

"Are you high?" Clarke asks. "Is that what's happening?"

"Yeah, let's go with that. Are you coming in or what?"

She considers, and flops down on the couch next to him. "I could read in here."

"Good," he says, and puts his head in her lap.

"This is new."

"I'm upgrading our relationship."

"Yeah, this definitely qualifies as _it's complicated_ , in Facebook terms."

"You could be petting me," he says.

"I could be," she agrees, because it is factually true, and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been wanting to get her hands in his hair. He has the most perfect hair Clarke has ever seen.

Plus he makes a noise when she starts scratching him that is, honestly, unfair.

"No part if this is normal," she points out.

"Mmm," he says. "Keep petting."

The next day, she's expecting some kind of escalation, maybe, because it feels like a step forward, right? A very weird step because it involved Bellamy being overly invested in a dog toy and then demanding that she pet him, but still. Escalation. And it wasn't, like, _bad_ weird. Bellamy fell asleep in her lap and it was honestly really cute.

But apart from lunch, which is with a bunch of people and therefore mostly involves Bellamy stealing her bacon and eating a truly alarming amount of meat, she doesn't see him during the day, and that night, it's a Miller night. 

Miller nights happen about once a month; Bellamy has some sort of nebulous regular social obligation, so his best friend Miller subs in as their RA, and he shows up again at some point the next day and grunts whenever anyone asks him questions.

"Is he avoiding me?" Clarke asks Miller, on the grounds that, well, it's better than asking Octavia. She's still a little scarred from her last conversation with Octavia.

"Not just you," says Miller, absent. "He's avoiding everyone."

"Awesome. You're really comforting."

He huffs. "Trust me, Bellamy's not avoiding you. He's just an idiot."

"He has a monthly obligation because he's an idiot?"

"Kind of, yeah." He taps his pen on Bellamy's desk. "Does he still call you cat girl?"

"Yup."

"Yeah, like I said, idiot. Come talk to him tomorrow and tell him I think he's a dumbass."

"I think he knows," Clarke says, but obviously she goes to Bellamy's room as soon as she's done with classes the next day anyway. He's lying in bed with a pillow over his face, looking vaguely miserable.

"Bad night?"

"You have no idea." He moves the pillow so he can squint at her. "Did I make you pet me?"

"Not really." When he makes a face, she says, "You weren't forcing me to pet you at gunpoint or anything."

"I just put my head in your lap and told you to pet me. Jesus, I can't believe anyone thought it was okay for me to be an RA. Miller says I'm being a total asshole."

"I feel like I missed something," she says, slow. "Like--five things."

"Yeah. It's not really--I don't spread it around, I guess. It's like being bi, it's just, you know. If I don't say it right away, I never know when to say it, and I don't want to just announce it because I'm your RA and--"

He's so stupidly cute. "Bellamy."

"I'm a werewolf," he says, putting his arm over his eyes. "That's, uh--yeah. Werewolf."

Clarke blinks at him. Of course, she knows there _are_ werewolves. But it probably is a little like being bi, or at least like being bi was for Clarke in high school. She knew people could be bi, but aside from herself, she didn't know any. And she wasn't even out.

Now she's in college, and she knows two other bi people, and one of them is, apparently, a werewolf.

"And that's why you call me cat girl?" she asks.

He moves his arms so he can glare again. Honestly, she thinks he probably just covers his eyes so he can dramatically uncover them. He's ridiculous.

"That's your question?" he asks.

"I never said I _didn't_ like dogs. And I specifically said I _did_ like you, so all this cat stuff is just--stupid. I like cats better than dogs. But that's not really an issue. I don't want to make out with cats or dogs."

"You want to make out with me?" he asks.

"I'd worry I made it awkward, but I think you kind of made it the most awkward."

"Yeah, that's pretty much my specialty." He wets his lips, is definitely staring at her. "I'm honestly basically useless the day after the full moon, but if you want to come over here and have your way with me, I enthusiastically consent. Very enthusiastically. I cannot overstate how much I'm consenting."

Clarke goes over to close his door, and makes sure it's locked, for good measure. "How useless are we talking?"

"Closing my eyes and thinking of England levels."

"You can at least think about me," she teases, straddles him and leans in. For all he claimed he was useless, he kisses her back hard, tangling his hand in her hair, nipping her lip and then tugging it, making her groan.

"I'm thinking about you," he assures her, and then flips them over, trapping her under him. "Second wind."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So, if I throw a tennis ball, will you chase it?"

He buries his face against her neck. "Just, like, the week before the full moon."

She tangles her hand in his hair, scratching lightly, and he groans and leans into it. "But you always like that. You're _such_ a cat."

"You really don't get this werewolf thing, do you?" he grumbles.

"I'm just saying, you're needy, you shed, you definitely gave me all kinds of mixed signals. You're a cat." He's clearly about to protest, so she just tugs him down for another kiss. "It's cool. Like I said, I love cats."

He grins, nips her neck gently. "Okay. I could live with being a cat. Just this once."

"Yeah, I thought maybe you could."


	7. whoops I accidentally found a naked/sexy selfie of you on your phone and fuck how am i supposed to function around you now?

"Jesus, what the fuck."

Clarke glances over to see that Bellamy is on his phone, which is probably like 95% of the problem right there. Bellamy has the most intense love/hate relationship with his phone of anyone she has ever met. He's really happy about a lot of the resources it offers, but is also kind of a weird technophobe who refuses to get on any social media and even finds text-messaging vaguely suspicious.

"Is someone wrong on the internet?" Clarke asks.

"No, it won't let me download this audiobook. Because my memory is full."

"Yeah, that seems pretty straightforward."

"I don't have anything! I deleted, like, all my books, and it still says there isn't enough memory."

Clarke sighs and holds her hand out. "Give it here. It's unbelievable you're only five years older than I am. I think you're still supposed to be a digital native."

"Ask me about growing up in poverty," he says, but he gives her the phone.

"Still, this is, like, basic shit," she says, navigating to the usage settings. He's got a shitty old iPhone with no memory to speak of, so she's not surprised he's having this issue. "You should learn this just by being alive."

"Uh huh. I'm going to the bathroom. Work your magic or I'm calling Raven."

"Raven is really overkill for this problem. It's not dead or dying, you just have too much shit."

"I do not!" he calls over his shoulder.

He doesn't, really; he has a bunch of weird apps that are completely unnecessary, from what Clarke can tell, but they're at least tiny. Most of his memory is in pictures, which isn't exactly surprising. Bellamy loves taking absolutely terrible selfies and posting them on Instagram, mostly to annoy Clarke, his sister, and his ex-boyfriend/his sister's current boyfriend, Lincoln, all of whom care about things like "composition" and "quality" and "being able to tell what the picture is of."

"I'm deleting some of your shitty pictures!" she yells.

"My pictures are art!" he yells back. And then, "But yeah, that makes sense, delete them."

She's going on autopilot, just selecting everything, because they're all either on Instagram, in the cloud, or so terrible she doesn't care if they're lost forever, when she hits--good pictures.

Not just good pictures, but good pictures _of Bellamy_ , stretched out in bed. Naked.

Even aside from the drastic increase in quality, it's obvious he didn't take them. They're full body shots, one of him on his stomach, blankets half down his body, hair a mess, the smooth lines of his back turning into the absolutely perfect curve of his ass in a way that makes Clarke's breath catch. It's hot, obviously, of course it's hot, but it's also just--beautiful.

And then the next one, he's woken up and rolled over, pulled on his glasses to smile at the camera, a sort of fond exasperation in his face. She manages to not let her eyes stray down for roughly five seconds, and then can't help it, maps the perfect expanse of his chest and then--yeah. His dick is soft between his legs, but still large and obvious, and it's intimate and sweet and devastating all at once.

"I have naked pictures on there, don't I," says Bellamy, and Clarke jerks her head up. He's smiling a little, sheepish.

"Just a couple," she says, jerking her eyes up. "They're--I assume Lincoln took them?"

"My naked body is very inspirational, thanks." He takes the phone back, studies it. "Is it weird that I don't want to get rid of those? It's a nice memory that somehow hasn't been tainted by the fact that my ex is now dating my sister."

"No, that's--okay, everything about that situation is always weird," she admits. "But this doesn't make it that much weirder."

He snorts. "As always, I appreciate your support."

"Any time." She swallows hard, hits delete on all the pictures she's selected. "You can make up your mind about everything before that? Or maybe getting rid of all those pictures will do it, I don't know. Just clear out your shitty selfies occasionally and you should be fine."

"My beautiful selfies," he corrects, absent. "I'm a work of art, Clarke."

When she closes her eyes, she can see the picture, his tousled hair and lazy smile. She can easily imagine taking a picture like that herself, him telling her to put the phone down, stretching out invitingly, showing off all that perfect tan skin and hard muscle. She'd put the phone down, slide on top of him, lean in and--

"Keep telling yourself," she manages, and pats him on the shoulder, for good measure. Normal, friend stuff. Very platonic.

"I know it must have been hard, seeing those," he says. "If you're overcome by lust, I get it."

"Uh huh." She throws in an eye roll for good measure. "I'll try to control myself."

*

The thing is, being attracted to Bellamy isn't _new_. He's always been attractive. The two of them met back when he and Lincoln were dating. Lincoln brought Bellamy along for drinks, and when he went to go get another round, Clarke just said, "Nice," and they high-fived.

When the two of them broke up, Clarke had expected Bellamy to drop out of her life, because that's how breakups always are for her. She wants to be one of those people whose relationships end amicably and everyone still likes each other, but things always go so wrong that she can't even be in the same state as anyone she has ever dated.

Which is part of why she tried so hard to not be attracted to Bellamy in the first place. Because he and Lincoln were still cool, to the extent that Bellamy introduced Lincoln to his baby sister, and Clarke's friend group isn't so large that she really wants to lose not only Bellamy, but anyone who would side with him after a breakup. And they're roommates now too, so, honestly, nothing is ever going to happen. He can be hot, and she can know he's hot, and that's it. The world is full of hot people that she's never going to fuck. She's come to terms with Bellamy Blake being one of them.

But those fucking pictures.

It's the intimacy as much as the attraction, the way that Lincoln--who is, and always has been, the best photographer Clarke knows, even with a shitty iPhone camera--captured the feeling of waking up with someone you love, the combination of arousal and warmth that comes from liking someone as much as you want them.

It's not the way she's supposed to feel about Bellamy, except of course it _is_. Because he's one of her best friends, on top of being gorgeous, so of course she likes him. 

She just can't really quite look at him right now. 

He's in the kitchen, telling her about his students' post-AP projects, and every time he has to reach up to get a new spice from the cabinet, his t-shirt rides up. She shouldn't be this into one inch of skin, but it's like her brain has been non-stop Bellamy lust since she saw those pictures. Everything makes her think about him lying in bed, in his glasses, naked and smiling at her, like all he wants is for her to be next to him.

**Clarke** : how do I not have feelings

**Wells** : What did Bellamy did now?

She scowls at the phone and pulls up Monty instead, sends him the same question, and he returns a screenshot of the app store, which has failed to find any results for _stop having feelings_.

She thinks about texting Lincoln or Raven, but it seems more dangerous than helpful, honestly. 

"You okay?" Bellamy asks, and she realizes she's scowling at her phone and manages a smile.

"Yeah, just--I went on reddit."

He snorts. "Jesus. I'm going to block you from going on there. People are wrong about Steven Universe. You know they're wrong about Steven Universe. You're not going to feel better if you yell at them."

"I kind of do."

"Sure you do." He rests his arms on the counter, leaning across to smile at her. If she just reached up and tangled her hand in his hair, she could be kissing him. He's that close. "Seriously, are you okay? I feel like I've barely seen you lately."

"I'm fine," she says, smiling even as guilt twists her gut. "Just a shitty week."

"Want to talk about it?"

Of course, that just makes it worse, because Bellamy is her fucking _friend_ and he cares about her, and it's so stupid, that this is fucking with her brain. It's just making him worry.

"No, it's stupid. But you're right, I haven't seen you much this week, I miss you. We should watch a movie."

"So, you want to drool on my shoulder while I yell at the TV?" he asks.

"Basically always, yeah."

"I figured. Go find some shitty historical drama I'm going to hate and I'll bring you dinner."

"Wow. I feel so spoiled."

"You should." He smiles at her, and her stomach flips. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'm dealing with it." He opens his mouth, and she adds, "And I'll tell you if you can help. Don't worry. It's fine."

"You always say that," he says, but his voice is fond. "If you need to hide any bodies, remember I've got a car."

"I think I'd burn them. But I assume you'd help me figure out the best place for that."

"Yeah, obviously," he says, and the discussion of _best places to burn a body_ gets them through until dinner's done, and Clarke decides, yeah. She has to fix this. Because losing Bellamy isn't an option.

*

"Okay," she says. "I need opinions."

"Your hair would look cute shorter," says Gina.

"You should go home for Christmas but not Thanksgiving," says Raven.

"It's okay to have feelings," says Wells.

"One of those is actually relevant," says Clarke, accepting her drink from Gina and taking a healthy sip. It's Tuesday and Bellamy has some sort of senior awards ceremony, so the bar is pretty deserted and he's not here. Ideal conditions for this conversation, to the extent that those exist. "I accidentally saw some naked pictures of Bellamy."

There's a long pause and finally Wells says, "Like, you tripped and suddenly you were lying in a pile of naked pictures of Bellamy?"

"Yeah, where's this pile of naked pictures of Bellamy?" Raven adds. "Asking for a friend."

"On his phone," says Clarke, making a valiant attempt not to smile and failing. "I was trying to clear out his storage and they were just--there."

"Really?" asks Gina. She and Bellamy dated for about three weeks, before another amicable breakup. Clarke doesn't understand how he does it. "He doesn't really seem like the dirty picture type."

"I'm pretty sure Lincoln took them. He didn't. They were, um--nice."

"You're the only person here who hasn't fucked him," Raven points out. "You don't have to tell us Bellamy looks good naked. We all know."

"Thanks for reminding me," she says, putting her head down on the bar. "I need a less incestuous friend group."

"Is the opinion if you should fuck Bellamy?" Raven asks. "Because we all definitely think you should fuck Bellamy. Three out of three agree."

"I can't believe you haven't fucked Bellamy already," Wells adds.

"Do I have to tell you all the reasons it would be a bad idea again?" Clarke asks, turning her head so she can glare at them. _They're_ somehow in a functional poly relationship, because most of her friends are competent at relationships, like they're balancing out all her failure.

"Yeah, you really should," says Raven. "I want to write them down and refute them."

"We're roommates," Clarke says, and scowls when she sees Raven really _is_ writing them down. "The venn diagram of our friend groups is basically a circle. All my breakups are basically nuclear holocaust bad, so when it ended everyone would get caught in the fallout." She sighs, because there's really only one thing to say, and it's the only argument she needs, "Dating Bellamy Blake would pretty much destroy my life."

"Nope," says Raven, frowning at the list. "Wrong."

"Compelling argument."

"You guys are roommates with a ton of friends in common and you get along like a house on fire," she continues. "These are arguments _for_ dating Bellamy. It's why we all think you guys are ridiculous. You're basically already dating, just without the benefits. Which you _really fucking want_ , so get on that."

"Yeah, but--"

"You're worried about breaking up with Bellamy," Raven says. "Which, no offense? Is stupid."

"It's not stupid," Clarke protests. "It's practical. We could suck as a couple and then--"

"And then maybe Bellamy's incredible chill with ending relationships will counteract yours," says Raven. "Or--here's a crazy thought--you guys just don't break up."

Somehow, it had never occurred to Clarke, which is--fucked up, probably? Like, really stupidly so. Every time she's so much as thought about kissing Bellamy, her mind has raced to after, when something goes wrong, when the two of them break up and her whole life falls apart, because she doesn't actually know what her life looks like, without Bellamy. 

So maybe he wouldn't leave it. Maybe he'd just--stay. Even if they dated. Maybe they'd be _together_.

"Oh," she says, soft.

There's a pause, and Raven asks, "Wait, did you seriously never think about that?"

"No."

"Okay, um, yeah. I can't believe I'm the first person to tell you this, but I'm pretty sure if you asked Bellamy to marry you, like, right now, he would. Which doesn't mean you guys would be together forever, I know divorce happens, but--god, just imagine if you guys put all your stubborn _we can't date each other it would ruin everything_ bullshit into an actual relationship."

"We could still break up," she protests. "Or it could be weird for--" She pauses, and realizes she is, again, with three people who have slept with Bellamy, all of whom think she should marry him. Lincoln probably thinks that. Everyone thinks that. "I don't know how," she finally says.

"Just tell him you want to marry him," Raven says, dismissive. "He'll definitely propose. I'm amazed he hasn't proposed already." But then she smiles, like she's actually going to offer genuine, non-sarcastic support for once. "You really need to bone him, Clarke, seriously."

Clarke laughs. "Yeah. I probably do."

*

When Bellamy gets home, she's lying on the couch in a pair of tiny pajama shorts and her laciest bra, reading the Hamilton book that she got him for his birthday. He pauses in undoing his tie to look at her, face unreadable.

"You know it's not that hot, right?" he finally asks. "Like sixty."

"I know."

"Okay, cool."

And then he wanders into his room, which is just--uncalled for. Clarke doesn't like to put too fine a point on it, but she's very attractive. And this bra does amazing things for her breasts. She's hot.

"That's it?" she asks, storming after him.

He's blinks at her before getting the last button of his shirt and shrugging it off. He's wearing an undershirt, white and way too tight for her current frame of mine. "What?"

"I'm sitting on the couch in this and all you've got is _okay, cool_?"

"Did you want me to not approve?"

She scowls at him. "I'm wearing basically nothing and I was reading a history book, the only way I could have made myself hotter to you was, like, writing _RIP Library of Alexandria_ on my stomach."

His hands pause on his belt buckle, but then he undoes it, slides his slacks off. His boxer-briefs are gray and the bulge of his dick in them is obvious and prominent. She still remembers exactly what it looked like in the picture; she's never going to forget. "You could have been naked," he says, voice careful. 

"I could be naked now," she replies, just as careful, and when he looks at her through the mess of his bangs, she offers him a shy smile. "I'm barely wearing anything, it really wouldn't be hard."

She can see his throat work when he swallows. "Not to, uh--I'm never going to tell you not to be naked, but what's going on, seriously?"

"I was sort of assuming you'd be overcome with lust and we could skip, like, talking about feelings? And we'd just have sex and everything else would kind of--work itself out." It sounds stupid, saying it aloud, but in her defense, that's how most of her relationships have started. Sex followed by inertia.

"Jesus fucking Christ, I have never met anyone who sucks at relationships as much as you do," he says, but he's grinning, and he slides his hands onto her waist, tugging her in. "You didn't get overcome with lust when you saw naked pictures of me. It would be rude if I got overcome just because you're fucking gorgeous."

"It's not rude if that's what I was going for," she protests. And then, because honesty is the best policy, "I was totally overcome. Those pictures ruined my life for a solid week."

"Awesome. I knew they were really hot." And then he frowns, looking down at her with actual concern. "A week? Is that why you've been all--"

"Kind of, yeah."

And then he grins, huge and wide, bright, and leans down. "Awesome," he murmurs, before he captures her lips with his.

Clarke has not thought about kissing Bellamy in the way that you don't think about something that someone specifically tells you not to think about. All the effort she puts into not thinking about it ends up looping around to basically just--thinking about it, without any of the benefits of actually fantasizing about any of it, about the way he slides his tongue into her mouth, the way his thumbs stroke against her bare hipbones, the way his hair feels between her fingers, soft and thick and so perfect. Maybe it's just as well she never let herself think about what he would be like, because she never would have gotten it right. She couldn't have known it would be so good.

"You're always the fucking hottest thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, one of his hands sliding into her shorts to cup her ass. "If I couldn't control my lust I'd never leave the apartment." His eyes soften, and it feels like too much suddenly. She's aware of how close they are, that this is Bellamy, and for a second, all she can think of is all the things that could go wrong, how much it would hurt to lose him. "It's not hard, Clarke. You're too important for me to fuck this up."

And then it's easy again, pushing up on her toes to press her lips against his again. "I love you too, Bellamy," she murmurs, and he laughs against her mouth, scoops her up and deposits her on the bed.

"Hey, you found the magic words," he teases, but the look in her eyes is still almost too much.

She tugs him on top of her. "Yeah, I thought that might do it."

*

In the morning, Bellamy is naked and sprawled on the bed, even better in person than in photographs. And when he turns to her and smiles, she melts, because the smile is for _her_. Not Lincoln. No one else. Just hers.

"Take a picture," he says, voice rough. "It'll last longer."

"It's fine," she says, pushing him onto his back and straddling his hips. "You're not going anywhere."


	8. Bellamy is into tongue piercings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would call this mature but not explicit, FYI! Def sex references.

Bellamy knows all about teenage rebellion; he went through it with Octavia, and he's honestly not sure anyone could be worse than she was. Even with Clarke's general over-achieving, Octavia was just a fucking nightmare.

"Do I get points for not being a teenager?" Clarke asks. They're sitting in Lincoln's tattoo parlor, and Clarke's foot is jiggling. Bellamy has three tattoos, the first from his own teenage rebellion, the second from when his mother died, and the third just because he likes tattoos. According to Octavia, it's kind of pathetic to now be getting matching tattoos with a girl he's not even dating, but it's not like they're actually _matching_. He and Clarke are just both getting tattoos. Independently. At the same time.

"What kind of points?" he asks. "Do you think that makes it better or worse?"

"Honestly, I don't know." She leans her head on his shoulder for a second. "I always wanted to do stuff like this. But I'd think about what my parents would say. I told my mom I wanted to shave my head when I was ten and she acted like I was personally attacking her."

"Huh," he says. She's already leaning on him, so it's pretty easy to tangle his fingers in her hair. "Obviously you should do whatever you want, but I like your hair."

"I do too. I just thought it would be fun. And it grows back."

"So shave it," he says. "Just warn me. Maybe let me keep the hair so I can make a weird wig."

"Wow, that was right on the tip of your tongue."

"I'm a very creepy person." He noses the top of her head. "You can still change your mind about the tattoo. No one's going to judge you."

"You judge me all the time." Her fingers trace the delicate skin on her wrist, mapping out the lines of the tattoo she's drawn for herself. "I want it. I'm just glad you're here."

"Well, teenage rebellion is better late than never, right?"

"I hope so."

*

Clarke's rebelling because her parents are public figures involved in a very messy divorce that's being dragged all over the media, and she's pissed about it. It's the kind of thing Bellamy can't quite even wrap his brain around, because his father was never in the picture, and his mother never got married to any of the guys she was with after that. Which, okay, if she'd been famous in some way, her many boyfriends probably would have gotten a lot of traction and there would have been gross slut-shaming to deal with, but--he can't imagine it. He doesn't get some parts of Clarke's life. But it's fine.

"I always figured they'd get a divorce eventually," she tells him. They're at Gina's bar, and Clarke is still fingering the bandage on her arm that covers her new tattoo. It's a star, small and golden, and Bellamy loves it.

Under his own bandage, his arm says, _Delenda est Carthago_ , which Octavia will definitely never let him live down. But she never lets him live anything down, so it's stupid to worry about that.

"That's cheerful," he says.

"Trust me, they weren't subtle about it. Not, like--" She takes a sip of his beer, because hers is empty and Gina's busy with some frat guys. "I didn't think it would go badly, because I thought they knew. I figured they'd get divorced after I went to college, and then after I graduated, and then I figured they just wouldn't. Just because they'd gotten used to it."

"And then your mom cheated."

"Yup. And everything just went--stupid."

"And you stopped giving a fuck?"

She sighs. "I never gave much of a fuck. But it just felt like--it's stupid to pretend to be someone you're not. It'll catch up to you."

"And this is you?"

She taps the rim of his beer, thoughtful. "I don't know yet. But I think it could be. I'm getting there."

"Cool," he says. "Keep me posted."

*

Clarke doesn't shave her head, but a week later she cuts it into a bob and dyes it magenta.

"Cute?" she asks.

"You're always cute."

"But extra cute."

He smiles and flicks a bright curl. "Extra cute," he agrees.

*

"So is this better or worse for you?"

"You're going to have to really narrow that down," he tells his sister, even though she doesn't. Every time she calls these days, it's because she saw one of Clarke's facebook updates and is concerned that he's dying of unrequited love or something else that's only ever been fatal to nineteenth-century novel characters. 

"Clarke's whole punk rebirth."

"This is honestly the tamest punk rebirth of all time," he says. "She got one tattoo and a new hairstyle. You ran away from home for a week and came home with like twelve piercings and a boyfriend who called himself _Deep Eddie_."

"He did not."

"Was his actual name better than Deep Eddie?"

There's a long pause. "So you're just regular in love with Clarke?"

"Basically, yeah."

"She looks cute with the pink hair though."

"It's magenta," he says. "And she always looks cute."

*

 **Clarke** : What's your opinion on piercings?

 **Bellamy** : Pretty much the same as my opinion on abortions  
I can't imagine a situation when I would ever get one  
But everyone else should do what they want

 **Clarke** : Wow.  
Did you come up with that just now or have you been preparing for this?

 **Bellamy** : I'm just gifted  
What do you want to pierce?

 **Clarke** : Can't decide.  
Maybe I should just get another tattoo.

 **Bellamy** : As always, whatever you want to do is cool  
But maybe wait until you're sure which one you want before you make any choices  
Not that you can't get tattoos or whatever removed but  
It's an expensive pain

 **Clarke** : Have I mentioned how fun it is to watch you flailing around trying to be completely supportive of my weird crisis?

 **Bellamy** : Yeah  
And I hate you

*

Honestly, the most surprising thing is that she gets her tongue pierced _without_ him. Bellamy is used to being Clarke's backup for basically everything, and he's a little hurt when he comes home to find her lying on the couch with an ice-pack on her face.

"Who'd you fight?" he asks, but he's pretty sure he doesn't actually manage to keep the concern out of his voice.

"No one," she says. Her voice is a little lispy, and when he raises her eyebrows, she sticks her tongue out. The piercing is small and silver and a total surprise.

"Wow," he manages.

"I just--I wanted to."

"And you didn't text?"

"I thought you supported me no matter what."

"I do. But it probably hurt, right?"

It feels like the wrong thing as soon as he says it, or, at the very least, a weird thing, but she smiles. "It wasn't that bad. I called to get an appointment and this was when they could fit me in. I didn't want to make you use vacation time. Especially when we could be doing something fun with your vacation time instead."

"Did you have something specific in mind?" he asks. He doesn't even think it's his fault his mind went straight to the gutter on that one. There was nowhere else for it to go.

"Taking me to the hospital when my tongue gets infected."

He snorts. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking."

*

The vague hurt that Clarke went and got a piercing without him distracts him from the reality of Clarke having a tongue piercing until they're out with Luna and Raven for drinks and Luna says, "Have you kissed anyone yet?"

Clarke looks amused. "Like, in life? Yeah. I've gone to all the bases. And some extra bases I made up."

"With the tongue stud," she clarifies, amused.

"Oh. No, not yet."

"But that's supposed to be cool, right?"

"I guess," says Clarke. "I like playing with it, so I assume someone I was making out with would too."

"It's very cool for the person you're making out with," Luna says. "I had a girlfriend with a piercing. It was also very--stimulating. In other places."

Bellamy chokes on his beer, and Clarke thumps his back. "He hasn't kissed anyone yet," she says. "In life. So he doesn't know what we're talking about."

Raven raises her eyebrows, and he takes another drink of beer.

When Clarke's in the bathroom, she says, "So, you're still in love with Clarke, huh?"

"Why would that have changed exactly?" he asks.

"I figured you'd eventually get tired of not saying anything."

He shrugs. "Probably. I guess eventually not saying anything is going to be worse than risking, you know, my entire relationship with my best friend. But it hasn't happened yet."

"Huh. I figured you were just--failing."

"Nope," he says, and offers her a smile. "Honestly? I'm not even trying."

*

But Clarke keeps on having a tongue stud, and he keeps _noticing_ it. It's not like he didn't think tongue studs were hot before, but in kind of an absent way. If anyone had asked him, he would have said he liked them.

He just hadn't ever thought about Clarke with one, and now it's always there, this flash of silver when she talks or laughs or sticks her tongue out at him, and he can't stop wondering about it. He knows she likes it, tells him it's fun to have something to fidget with when she's bored that no one else can see, but he wants to know what it tastes like, what it feels like. He's pretty sure Clarke is one of those people who likes to use her mouth a lot, has seen plenty of her exes and one-night stands with bruises on their necks. Anyone who fucks her now is going to become intimately familiar with that barbel, and he wants that so much.

It's not lust is his primary feeling about her; if he just wanted to fuck her, he would have told her they should have sex years ago and she would have turned him down or agreed. Either way, it would be done. But he wants to marry her and get a cat and then a dog and then, if both of those survive, have kids. And it's a lot of pressure, wanting someone like that.

Still, he also wants to fuck her against every flat surface in their apartment, which isn't new, but is getting more and more intense as she keeps having a tongue stud.

"So, how's the rebellion going?" he asks, a month after the conversation at the bar.

"Hm?"

"You think you're done? Finally the person you want to be?"

Her pause sounds deliberate. "Mostly. What do you think?"

"Of what? The new Clarke Griffin?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be pissed if I say you're basically the same? It's all just aesthetic differences."

"And are they improvements?"

"You didn't need improving." She raises her eyebrows, and he smiles. "It's not really that different. You were pretty before, you're pretty now. You seem happy, that's good."

"Remember when you had strong opinions about shit?"

"I have plenty of strong opinions. They're just not about your new look."

She straightens up, cocking her head and regarding him with even interest. "You're telling me you have absolutely no strong opinions about this?"

"Your tongue stud is hot," he says, reflexive, and when she grins, he lets out a breath. "Like--seriously, so fucking hot."

She repositions in that way some girls can, where the cleavage spilling out of her tanktop is suddenly _even more_. He's pretty sure she uses some kind of dark magic to pull it off. "Yeah?"

"It can't be a surprise, right?"

"It's a surprise that you think it's hot."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he sees her eyes drop to watch. So--yeah. Now's as good a time as any. "Clarke, I think literally everything about you is hot. Before and after. I don't care."

"But you really like the tongue stud."

"Yeah." He pauses and then says, "So, does that double as a love confession, or did I need to be more explicit?"

She doubles over laughing, but it's bright and happy, the delighted laugh he hears so rarely, so he can't be nervous at all. "I should have known you'd suck at this."

"If you're trying to make this happen, you're not doing any better," he points out. When she looks up again, he slides his hand into her hair. "We good?"

"Not yet," she says, and leans in to kiss him.

It's softer than he expected, slower, and he realizes that this is _her_ love confession, this quiet, easy kiss. It's a kiss that says she's not going anywhere, and it's perfect.

Then his tongue brushes her piercing and she moans and slow stops feeling even slightly possible. He groans into the kiss, tugging her into his lap and groping her ass.

"Resolve years of sexual tension?" she asks, laughing as she looks down at him.

"Resolve years of sexual tension," he agrees, and pulls her back down for another deep, wet kiss. Both her hands slide into his hair, holding him firmly in place, like he'd ever be anywhere else.

She laughs when his tongue finds her stud again, and he pinches her ass in retaliation. 

"Please tell me that doesn't tickle or something," he says. "I have so many fantasies about that thing."

"Yeah?" she asks, biting her lip. "I mostly just think about sucking your dick with it."

He groans and lets his head drop back on the couch. "Yeah, me too. But I think about it a lot."

"I guess I could lick your abs too," she says, sliding her hands under his t-shirt.

"Honestly, I'd rather you started with my dick."

"What, you don't believe in foreplay?" 

He flips them over so she's on her back on the couch and tugs off his shirt. Her mouth is slightly parted and he can see the glint of metal there.

"How about I play with your breasts until you're so turned on you can't see straight?" he offers.

"That involves zero interaction between you and my tongue."

"You don't need to see to suck my dick," he points out, and then leans in to kiss her again, wet and hot. He insinuates his leg between hers and lets her grind against him, pushes back, just as eager. "I really love you, though," he adds.

"I know," she says. "You've always loved me. I didn't think you'd stopped just because we were making out."

"I've always loved you like this," he says, and her expression softens. 

"Oh."

"I thought I should mention."

"If it makes you feel better, sure. I wasn't worried." She leans up to tug off her own shirt, and his train of thought momentarily derails. "I believe there were promises about how I wouldn't be able to see straight."

"Wouldn't want to break any promises," he murmurs, and leans back in.

*

The blowjob--with added tongue stud--is just as amazing as he thought it would be, and licking the taste of himself out of her mouth--off her piercing--is almost enough to get him hard again by itself. When it's not, he goes down on her, making her gasp and moan and tell him how much she loves him, and by the time he's ready to fuck her it's already the best sex he's ever had.

"Wow, sap," she says, when he tells her as much after they're done. She's still naked and warm against his side, so he's probably going to start fingering her in like ten minutes. His self-control is going to take a while to come back.

"Sorry, was it bad for you?"

She kisses his shoulder. "I didn't say that." There's a pause, and her hand finds his, squeezing his fingers. "You were the last thing."

"Hm?"

"When I was thinking about--being the version of myself I wanted to be. That version of me had you. That was the most important one."

"Yeah, you didn't need to go to all this trouble. Every version of you has me."

She laughs. "But if I hadn't done the post-teenage rebellion, you never would have discovered your tongue ring fetish."

"It's a stud," he says. "But thanks. I appreciate your help."

She yawns and snuggles closer. "Anything for you."

His grin would be embarrassing, if anyone could see it. Thankfully, her eyes are closed. "Wow. And you're calling me sappy."


	9. Searching Far and Wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets into Pokemon Go.

If anyone asked, Bellamy wouldn't have said he was really excited about Pokemon Go. He likes Pokemon, in a sort of general, slightly hipster-ish way; he couldn't get into the anime and hated the trading card game, but he'll go to bat for most of the video games. He _still_ plays Pokemon: Conquest on the train to work sometimes, because feudal warlords fighting for territory in tactical battles with adorable monster is never not going to be awesome, and he still hasn't managed to get all the best matches for all of the characters. And that shit is important.

But he still has this kneejerk reaction of _Oh, this is going to be the bad one_ when new products come out; he's always sort of expecting to _stop_ thinking Pokemon shit is fun. He's a gainfully employed adult with his own apartment. So it should happen at some point, right? Besides, catching Pokemon on his phone? It sounds like such a gimmick.

But then it comes out, and he figures he might as well just give it a try. Just to see what it's like. No big deal. He'll delete it in like a day.

Sometimes Bellamy likes to lie to himself; everyone needs a hobby.

He misses the actual launch of the app, because he doesn't keep up with this shit, so he finds out about it from Octavia, who only keeps up with this shit to mock him. Which actually works out really well for him; he gets the news he cares about, and a text from his sister. Everything is awesome.

**Octavia** : how many pokeymans have you caught  
be honest

**Me** : In my life?  
I don't know  
There are a lot of games  
Do you want me to try to count?

**Octavia** : pokemon go  
come on

**Me** : oh, is that out?

**Octavia** : :/

**Me** : Seriously, I didn't know  
Is it cool?  
Should I get it?

**Octavia** : i havent played it  
bc im not a nerd

**Me** : Where did I go wrong with you?

**Octavia** : everywhere  
keep me posted  
tell me when ur a master trainer or wev

**Me** : Thanks for the support, O

He figures he'll get the app and screw around with it a little, take a few screenshots so Octavia can make fun of him, and probably get bored of it in a few days. After all, he still has Pokemon Shuffle to play too. It's not like his phone can become a non-stop Pokemon machine.

Seriously, lying to himself is _the best_.

It's summer, which means he hasn't got a lot going on. He has stuff to get ready for next year, has a few obligations for clubs he advises, but aside from that, his schedule is pretty wide open. He'd like to say he's been reading and enriching himself, but mostly he's been playing Overwatch and trash-talking Miller.

Which means that, within about twenty minutes of downloading the app, he's outside, roaming his neighborhood and looking for Pokemon. After all, he can't challenge a gym until he's level _five_ , and he wants to see what that's like. That's important. And there are all these poke-stops he can check out.

He maybe can't text his sister about this. It might be too much to admit to another person.

On the bright side, he's getting out of the house, exploring his neighborhood, and providing entertainment to everyone who passes him. Because, okay, yeah, it is probably a little sad to be a thirty-year-old guy wandering around a park looking for Pokemon on his phone. 

But it's really fun, too. There isn't really much to it, but--it's more time in the sun than he's had in weeks, and it's weirdly addictive, wandering around following blips on his phone screen.

And then, just like any good Pokemon game, he gets his rival.

He spots the blonde woman in the park catching a Bellsprout and goes over to her before he's actually recognized her; in his defense, she doesn't look much like the Clarke Griffin he's used to. 

Clarke started teaching art at his high school last year, and the two of them got off on the wrong foot because their clubs got scheduled in the same space, and it lead to a lot of arguments about whose club was more important, and which of them _deserved_ the space, all of which probably could have been easily resolved with some straightforward conversation, but that didn't happen, because he and Clarke are the same kind of stupidly stubborn.

Which is, honestly, a shame, because he's pretty sure he and Clarke would get along. And the fact that the woman wearing an over-sized t-shirt and yoga pants, hair in a messy bun, catching Pokemon in the park, is _Clarke_ only supports that theory.

But Bellamy's actually terrible at talking to Clarke, so instead of taking this opportunity to make peace when he recongizes her, he says, "That's a shitty Pokemon, Griffin."

Clarke jumps and whirls; she's wearing glasses and minimal to no makeup. Honestly, she looks like she just rolled out of bed, and he would have liked to be in the bed with her. Which would be another great reason to not be a dick right now, but that ship has sailed.

Still, she relaxes when she recognizes him, and rolls her eyes. "It's gotta catch 'em _all_ , Bellamy, not gotta catch 'em most."

"That's grammatically shitty."

"Unlike making fun of someone for catching a Bellsprout, which is just what cool adults do."

"Hey, that was completely grammatically correct. And accurate. You aren't gonna argue with me, are you?"

The argument might work better if he'd put away his phone and was not, at this very moment, in the Pokemon Go app, with the display still showing that he just caught a Caterpie. Clarke definitely notices too, and gives him a significant look.

"Don't tell me you _wouldn't_ catch the Bellsprout."

"I'd get a better Pokemon."

"Uh huh." She throws the ball and both of them watch as it hits the Bellsprout and twitches, contemplating whether or not it's caught. He catches her grin as the ball locks and the catch screen pops up. "How's your Pokedex?" she asks.

"Huh?"

"How many have you caught?"

"Uh, only like seven different species. I just started today."

It occurs to him belatedly that this might reflect poorly on him, but Clarke looks amused, rather than judgmental. "It came out yesterday. What were you waiting for?"

"I didn't have the date in my calendar."

"Why not? I'm way ahead on my Pokedex already. You snooze, you lose."

"How many do you have?"

"Fifteen." And then, she grins. "Sorry, sixteen. My shitty Bellsprout."

She pulls up her Pokedex to show it off, and he nods. "Well, the rival always starts off better. Just means I'm going to kick your ass later."

To his delight, her smile widens. "What starter did you pick?"

"Charmander."

"Perfect. I've got Squirtle. I'm gonna be the best, Ash Ketchum."

He's grinning too now. It's impossible not to. "No way, Gary."

They both poke around the park for a while, not quite _together_ , but not not together either. Whenever one of them catches something, they'll crow and show it off, and everyone else passing by clearly thinks there's something wrong with them, but they would have thought that anyway, so Bellamy isn't that bothered. It's way more fun with company, and Clarke's genuine delight is infectious, and adorable.

She doesn't even seem that annoyed woth him. They're being positively friendly. She teases him when he gets a shitty Pokemon and he returns the favor, and they end up in an extended but good-natured argument about the merits of Weedle vs Caterpie. 

They're also not the only ones doing Pokemon shit, which is cool, in a kind of weird nerd unity way, but he and Clarke don't do much besides smile and nod at the others; apparently she's as happy to be mostly anti-social as he is. Or maybe she's enjoying his company too. He certainly hopes so; it's the most he's ever talked to her outside of school, and it's honestly even more awesome that they're talking about _Pokemon_ , of all things.

"Favorite gen?" he asks.

"Two. It was my first. You?"

"One, same reason."

"Favorite Pokemon?"

"Houndour."

She grins. "Yeah?"

"What, does that say fascinating things about my psychology?"

"It says you love puppies," she says, and he laughs.

"What's your favorite?"

"Snivy."

"Of course. The spoiled rich kid of the Pokemon world," he says, and immediately regrets it. He was doing so _well_.

But she grins. "You know it."

She has an egg and wants to walk until it hatches, and he knows a good coffee place, so they go over there. He gets an egg off their first poke-stop, and she shows him how to incubate it.

"As my rival, are you supposed to be helping me?"

"It's no fun winning if you aren't putting any effort in," she says. "I want my victory to be earned. Right now you need all the help you can get."

"Yeah, but I love my Pokemon more, so even if I don't have as many, I'm still winning, right? I never got into the show but my sister watched it to annoy me. I'm pretty sure that was the message."

"That's what losers say to make themselves feel better. Quality over quantity is bullshit. Give me quantity."

"That explains why you have fifteen Pidgeys," he teases.

"My army of Pidgeys is gonna kick your ass, Blake," she says, and he holds the door open for her as they go into the coffee shop.

"I bet you could evolve them into a bunch of less shitty Pidgeottos," he says, and once they've gotten drinks, they do just that. It's--well, it's an afternoon with a coworker he didn't get along with, and now they share a stupid interest, and are getting along like old friends. It's awesome, and he's having a great time.

Plus she's pretty. Just as a bonus.

They walk with their drinks once that's done, and Clarke tells him about her summer--mostly boring, but she went to visit her best friend in Belgium--and they talk about the upcoming year. They both hate Principal Sydney more than they hate each other, and when Bellamy clicks a gym, they also both agree that Professor Willow is weirdly attractive. Ranking the relative hotness of the Pokemon game mentors, with Bellamy arguing for Professor Sycamore and Clarke arguing for Professor Juniper, gets them through until Clarke's egg hatches, and she's so thrilled when it's an Eevee that she actually hugs him.

"Sorry," she says, flushing.

"No, it's cool. I'd be excited too. That's a totally normal reaction."

She bites her lip on a smile. "I should get home, I'm having dinner with friends tonight and I need to shower and stuff. But you should give me your number. I want to find out what your egg turns into. And we can maybe--I don't know. Do Pokemon field trips. Or whatever."

"Yeah," he agrees. "That would be great. My summer plans are basically just becoming a Pokemon master at this point."

"And my summer plan is to become an even better Pokemon master than you are," she says. "So yeah. We'd better do phone numbers."

He gets a few more Pokemon on his way home, but it's not nearly as fun without Clarke, so he does actual work for a while, gets dinner, only checks every fifteen minutes or so to see if any Pokemon have spawned in his apartment. And obviously gets them if they had. He's not a _slacker_.

Octavia texts at eight: _have you caught them all yet_

He's checking his exact count for her when the phone buzzes again, this time with a message from Clarke: _Caught a Rattata at the train station. Seems kinda cliched, but at least I caught it_

His grin is a mile wide.

_Just wait until they put Trubbish in_ , he tells her. And then, to Octavia, he says, _I caught exactly what I wanted_.

It's going to be a great summer.


	10. i’ve been undercover for months/years and i know i told you not to wait for me but i’m still in love with you and it’s killing me

Clarke's used to making sacrifices for her job. She works long, weird hours, she puts herself in danger, and she's sometimes cranky and irritable about, well--everything. She loves being a cop, but it's _hard_ , and it's hard for the people she loves too. When she dated Lexa, she thought it would be good, because Lexa was a cop too, and she understood. But they could never quite put professional stuff aside enough to just be a couple.

When they break up, that feels like the end. Her final sacrifice. She just won't have anyone. Romance won't be part of her life. It feels final.

"Uh huh," Bellamy says, sounding unconvinced. "Because every cop is single forever. No cop has ever reproduced. They all just die alone."

"Shut up," she says, without heat. "I just ended a relationship. I'm allowed to be dramatic. You're dramatic all the time. Don't get jealous that I'm stealing your bit."

To her surprise, he actually sobers, looks serious. "Obviously, you're hurt. I get that. I'm not telling you not to be. But--this isn't the end, Clarke. I don't want you to give up."

It's the kind of concern she's used to from him, and she smiles, leans her head against his shoulder. "I know you hate it too. My job."

"I don't hate it," he says, gruff. "I'd worry about you no matter what you were doing. It's nice to feel like I'm not just being irrational."

"That's definitely true." She sighs. "I'm not giving up. I'm just--I'm tired."

"I know," he says. "I'm sorry."

"You're not. You didn't like her."

"I'm sorry you're feeling this way," he says. "Breakups suck, and I wish she hadn't been such a dick about it."

"You wish we hadn't dated in the first place," she teases, and he smiles.

"Yeah, that too. I can be sorry about a lot of things. I'm awesome at it."

"You are." She sighs and burrows closer to him. "I'll stop being a mess."

"Whenever you're ready," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

It's hard for her to say when she falls in love with _him_ , because she feels like she's always been a little bit in love with him. The first time she met him, freshman year of college, the first thing she noticed was that he was hot. And, granted, they were arguing by the end of that meeting, but in a way that felt--exciting. Clarke likes people with strong opinions who don't back down.

She thought they were going to happen, and then they didn't, and they didn't happen for so long that it was easier to think they never would. That he wasn't interested in her like that. And so she didn't let herself be interested in him either. He's her best friend; pining over him would just make her sad. She'd much rather be happy.

Six months after she and Lexa break up, someone steals a bunch of cash from a hotel, and Clarke's assigned to the case. They figure it out without much trouble, catch the guy in a couple days, and once it's done, the manager says, "This is awkward, but do you want to get a drink?"

Her name is Niylah, and she's pretty and seems cool, so Clarke says yes, and they have drinks and Niylah kisses her at the end. It's fine, if not earth-shattering, and they exchange numbers and make tentative plans to see each other again.

Bellamy is still up when she gets home. "How was it?" he asks.

"Fine."

"Are you guys going out again?"

"I guess?" She shrugs off her coat and collapses onto the couch next to him. "I don't know. I wouldn't mind, but it wasn't--you know. It was a first date. I don't feel like I know how to--you know I suck at dating."

"I know you do." He clears his throat, oddly formal, and sits up straight. "I think you shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what? Suck at dating?"

"I think you shouldn't go out with her again."

"You're the one who gave me the pep-talk about not giving up on love," she points out, surprised. Bellamy's generally in favor of her trying to be social.

"Yeah, I did. And--I really didn't want you to. But, uh--" His tongue darts out to wet his lips, but his eyes are steady on hers. "It was pretty selfish. I didn't want you to give up because--fuck, Clarke. I know what your job's like, I already worry about you, and I--I think I could make you happy."

Her mouth goes dry, but apparently he's made up his mind about this one, and he's going to power through. Her heart is beating like it's trying to escape from her body.

"I think you shouldn't go out with her again because I want you to go out with me." That's when his courage fails him, and he looks away. "But, uh, if you don't want to, yeah. Then you can keep going out with her. Just--giving you some options."

She has to laugh, which makes her feel awful, because she's not laughing _at_ him. It's just--he made a _speech_. She adores him.

So she slides her hand up to cup his cheek, turns his face back to her so she can kiss him, and he kisses back, hand sliding into her hair, mouth firm and sure against hers.

She's in his lap with his shirt off before it occurs to her she hasn't even _said_ anything, because that would involve not kissing him, and when she pulls back to see his eyes blown and his glasses crooked, she _still_ has trouble formulating any kind of decent response to the situation.

At least he looks about as dazed as she feels.

"I didn't really like her that much anyway," she finally says, and leans back in to kiss him again.

For a month, Clarke is blindingly happy, like she's never been before in any relationship. It's not like she hasn't cared about her exes; she wouldn't have dated them if she didn't care about them. But they usually started dating either very soon after they met or very soon after they started spending a time together, and it meant that she was getting to know them as they dated, that their relationship was based mostly on the romance.

Clarke knows Bellamy like the back of her hand, knows all his weird quirks, all his bad habits, and even knowing all that, he's still her favorite person in the world. Getting to learn how he likes to kiss, how he likes to touch her and be touched, how he likes to sleep? That just makes everything _more_ , and it was already great.

Her life feels perfect, so of course, it has to go wrong, and of course, it's because of work. She's been looking into some mafia activity, and they finally have a solid lead. But someone needs to join the organization. Someone needs to get involved.

If she honestly believed she was the wrong person for the assignment, she could say it. If she thought she couldn't do it, she could say that too. But she's the right person, and she can do it.

But it's undercover for however long it takes for her to bring the guys down, no contact with her friends and family.

No contact with Bellamy.

It could be _years_.

He's cooking when she gets home, and she takes a second to just watch him, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he moves. It feels profoundly unfair, that it took them ten years to get here, and now she gets him for a month, and she doesn't know when she'll see him again.

"Hey," he says, when she rests her head against his back. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I was being stealthy. I'm a cop. I'm very sneaky."

"Very. How was your day?"

"Awful."

"Shit," he says, and turns around so he can hug her. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"I got a new assignment. Undercover. Indefinitely."

He stiffens. "Undercover?"

"Yeah. No contact with friends or family or--"

"I know how it works. I've seen a lot of movies." He kisses her hair. "It's okay."

"It's not."

"Are you going to do it?"

"It's--yeah. It has to be done, and I'm the best person to do it. Of course I'm going to do it."

"Then it's fine."

"It could be _years_ , Bellamy."

"I know."

"And you're just--okay with it."

"No," he admits. "It's okay, but I'm not okay with it. But I'm not going to tell you not to. You should do it. If it was me, you'd tell me to do it. And you'd be right. Like I'm right." He smiles, and even makes it look pretty real. "It sucks. We both know that. But it's your job, and it's important, right?"

"Of course."

"So--when do you leave?"

"A week."

"Okay," he says. "Dinner in twenty."

They do talk about it more, at least in broad terms. There are rent concerns and confidentiality and what she has to tell her other friends. There's a lot to figure out, but they still talk around the most important thing.

The night before she leaves, she makes herself say, "We haven't talked about us."

"What about us?"

"I don't--look, I don't know how long it's going to be. I don't know when I'll be back. You don't have to--it would be stupid, to wait. Or whatever."

"Wait?" he asks.

"I don't want to be your girlfriend who lives in Canada. I don't want you to be--if you meet someone, you should date them. If you want to. When you feel ready."

"Okay."

"I mean it," she says.

"I know." He kisses her hair. "If I meet someone and want to go out with them, I will. And if you have to do sexy undercover espionage, I understand. I've definitely never had that fantasy."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I." This time, he pulls her up for a real kiss. "I can't even imagine, Clarke. I love you. But if it gets to be too long and I meet someone and I can imagine it, I'll think about it."

"Good." She wets her lips. "I love you too," she says. It's not the first time she's said it, but she wants to make sure he knows. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," he says. "You're my best friend, Clarke. This isn't going to change that."

And part of her believes it. Because, honestly, it doesn't change anything for _her_. She thinks about him all the time, when she's not working, wonders how he's doing, wonders if he's happy. She wonders who he's talking to about his classes once school starts, wonders if he's renting out her old room to get some extra cash while she's gone, if Octavia is telling him to forget about her, or telling him she might come back.

She wonders if he's met anyone he could imagine himself with. She wonders what they'd be like.

It's just over a year before she's ready to make her move, and a month after that before they've gotten everything set up, before she actually busts the guys.

And then, suddenly, it's over, and it's like all the breath is punched out of her, like her entire life is deflating.

For so long, all she could think about was being done, going back, and now it is and she can, and she has no idea what she's supposed to do. 

But she's tired, and she did it, and she doesn't have to debrief until tomorrow. And she wants to see her best friend. That's all she's wanted for months.

He might not be alone, she realizes, once she gets to their place. He might not be home. Maybe he moved. It's been fifteen months; that's a long time. She can't just step back into the life she left. It might not fit anymore.

But they'll find a new way to be. If he has someone else--she'll live with that. She can adapt to that world, as long as she doesn't lose him.

When he opens the door, he's wearing his glasses and pajamas, his face clouded with confusion at having a visitor, and Clarke just stares at him. His hair is longer, shaggier, and she wants to step into him and never leave his arms again.

"Hi," she breathes instead.

He's staring right back at her. "Hi."

"I'm, um--I'm done. With the assignment."

"Oh good. I'm glad you're not compromising your fake identity to see me." He wets his lips, and she nearly sags with relief when he breaks out in a huge grin. "Fuck, it's good to see you."

"You too," she says, and when she does hug him, he responds instantly, holding onto her so tight it hurts. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too. Did it--did you get them? Did it work?"

"Yeah, it worked. We got them."

"How much sexy espionage was there? Be honest."

"None."

"Good. It turns out I'm kind of only into that in theory."

She closes her eyes, breathes him in. He still smells like Bellamy. "What about you? How's your love life?"

"Looking up." He rubs his thumb against her arm. "Nothing happened, Clarke," he tells her, soft. "Nothing was ever going to happen."

It makes her sniffle, which would be embarrassing, except that this is one of those situations where she's supposed to be emotional. She missed him so much. "Yeah. I was hoping you'd say that. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Not if--" The breath he lets out is ragged. "So, uh, I'm still in love with you. Cool?"

"Cool. I'm still in love with you too."

"Great. Please don't do that again. I can handle your job, but--fuck, not that. I missed you so fucking much. Every time the phone rang I thought I was going to hear they found out, something happened, I--"

"Yeah," she says, presses her lips to his shoulder. "I think I can promise that."

"Good," he says, and pulls away just enough he can smile at her, brilliant and bright, so full of love she thinks she might actually cry this time. "Welcome home."

"Thanks. It's good to be back."


	11. we bumped into each other in the street and you were grinning like a cocky asshole the whole time so i stalked off only to realise i’m wearing your shirt

It's not like Bellamy _didn't_ notice something was up with the shirt, but it didn't seem like anything to worry about. He was in a hurry this morning and tugged on the first clean shirt he found, like he often does. The fit is off, but not enough that he can't wear it, and it's tight, but not unbearable. And it's kind of weirdly unfamiliar and familiar all at once, but he ends up with free t-shirts from random places all the time and just shoves them into his dresser and forgets about them, so that's not a huge shock. Okay, so it smells a little weird, but--in a nice way.

Honestly, he's thinking he should wear it more often. He's gotten some appreciative looks, and even if he's not really looking for anything right now, it's nice to feel appreciated. He doesn't need circulation anyway, right?

Octavia takes one look at him and says, "Wow."

"What?"

"Did that thing shrink in the wash, or is part of your rebounding wearing tiny shirts to try to attract a new mate?"

"Just like in the wild," he says. "I'm not rebounding. It probably shrank in the wash, I don't know." He scowls at her. "What makes you think I'm rebounding?"

"Clarke's back," she says, easy, like this is common knowledge, and Bellamy feels his whole body go cold.

It's been six months since he and Clarke broke up, and he's still not convinced it was the right decision. She wanted them to have a rational discussion about it, which--he gets, he does. But hearing his girlfriend decided to take a fellowship across the country without consulting him had put him in a bad mood, and the fact that she'd applied for it before they started dating hadn't helped, especially with her _Let's be reasonable about this_ tone. Like _he_ was being a dick here, and not here. Not that she was, but--she was being more of a dick than he was, for sure.

Sometimes, he wonders how it would have gone if they both took a different tone, if it hadn't turned into a fight before they had the chance to try to make it a conversation. He thinks he could have done long distance.

He knows he would have liked to try.

"She's back?" he asks. "How do you know? What's she doing back? She was supposed to be gone for a year."

Octavia shrugs. "I don't know. I unfriended her on Facebook in solidarity, but I'm still friends with Raven, and she liked Clarke's, _Happy to be back in Boston_ status the other day, so I stalked her a little. I didn't see many details, but she updated her location from Seattle to Boston, and the comments seemed legit."

"Thanks for creeping on my ex-girlfriend's social media so I don't have to," he says, taking a sip of his water. "So, I didn't know about that, and I'm not rebounding. Don't read into my clothing choices, O."

"You really didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't. I'm over her."

"Uh huh. So you don't care that she's back."

"Not at all."

"Wow. That was really convincing."

"We broke up," he says. "That means I don't care about her anymore."

"That's not how it works. And it's definitely not how it works with you two." She considers him. "Look, Bell. It's cool if you--if you really don't want to be with her, that's fine. But I never felt like--if you're not over her, you should talk to her. Don't be stubborn."

"I like being stubborn." He wets his lips. "Are you trying to tell me I should try to get back together with my ex?"

"Just Clarke. Clarke was good for you. Don't get back together with any of your other exes. Everyone but Gina sucked, and I don't want you breaking up Gina and Raven."

"I'm glad you've done so much analysis on this." He wets his lips. "I'll think about it," he promises, and she lets it drop.

He's staring at his phone, trying to compose some kind of text to Clarke--should he act like he doesn't know she's back? Should he just tell her Octavia was Facebook-stalking her? Or should he just pretend he doesn't want to talk to her--when he walks into someone, and his apology dies on his lips when he sees it's _her_ , somehow. Of course it's her.

She looks just as surprised to see him, but she recovers first, manages a polite smile that turns into a fucking _smirk_ as she looks him over. "Hey," she says.

He crosses his arms over his chest, which just seems to delight her further. "You're back," he says, which was really not what he wanted to say, but he doesn't know what to do with her expression.

"I'm back, yeah."

"What happened?"

Her expression softens, and she looks down, like she's embarrassed. "It--I hated it, honestly."

"Hated it?"

"My supervisor was a nightmare, the lab was a dysfunctional mess, I was so fucking lonely out there, and then finally the director of the institute hit on me at the end-of-year party and I was just like--I'm done. I can't." He can see her biting his lip, and his ability to be pissed at her suddenly dies.

"The director hit on you?" he asks, and that makes her laugh.

"Not that badly. Just, like--enough to be uncomfortable. And I hated it."

"So you quit?"

"After I reported the guy for sexual harassment, yeah." She looks back up at him, mouth tugging into a small smile. "I was going to call you."

"Yeah? And say what?"

"If I knew what I was going to say, I would have already called you." 

"Octavia told me you were back," he admits. "Just now. I was trying to compose a text."

"Yeah? What have you got?"

He shows her the phone, which is still open to the message. So far he's just got a plane emoji, which seemed like a good placeholder.

"I like it. Really gets the point across." Her eyes flick over him. "Or, well--yeah. Something does."

Her own phone buzzes, and she glances down at it. 

"Places to go, people to see?" he asks.

"Job interview." She worries her lip. "It was--really good to see you. We should talk. I--I missed you."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Good luck with the interview."

"Thanks," she says, gives him a final once over, smiles wide at what she sees. "Later, Bellamy."

He's distracted for the rest of the afternoon, still trying to figure out what he's supposed to say to her. He wants to say--he wants to say they're both stubborn assholes, but they were good together. He wants to tell her that he thinks they could make it work, still.

He'd like to make it work. He'd like to try again.

When he gets home, he tugs his shirt off and throws it on the bed, kicks off his jeans to put on his pajamas instead. And that's when he figures it out, why Clarke was looking at him, because the sight of the shirt on his sheets is so familiar.

It's _her shirt_. The one she sleeps in. It still smelled faintly of her detergent. It's too big for her, and too small for him, and she definitely noticed he was wearing it.

He wishes he had too. But he was always generally more focused on getting it off her than he was on looking at it; it's not really surprising that he didn't recognize it.

And it's as good an excuse as any to call her.

She picks up almost immediately, sounds genuinely happy when she says, "Hey, Bellamy!"

"Hey. How'd the interview go?"

"Well, I think. They said they'd call tomorrow."

"Cool. Keep me posted."

"I will."

There's a pause, and he hopes that this is something they get over. The whole awkwardness thing. "So, do you want the shirt back?" he finally asks.

She laughs, bright and surprised. "I honestly couldn't tell if you knew it was mine."

"Nope. Didn't notice until just now."

"Typical."

"I can wash it and--"

"I don't want it back," she says, fast, like she's forcing it out.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Another pause, and then she says, "I want it to be there next time I sleep over."

His breath catches, and he falls back on his bed, all the air rushing out of his lungs. "Yeah?"

"Did I say I was sorry? And I missed you?"

"You didn't say you were sorry. But--I am too. And I missed you too." He grins up at the ceiling. "You want to get dinner tomorrow? You can tell me how much you hated Seattle and I can tell you how much Miller sucked at trying to help me through the breakup. It was a fucking mess."

"I'm not surprised." He can hear her smile. "I'd love to."

He wears the shirt to dinner, and she grins when she sees it, tugs on the sleeve and says, "Is blood even getting through to your arms?"

"Not really. But I look cute, right?"

She laughs, shakes her head. Her smile is so warm he can barely believe it. "Incredibly."

The next morning, she wears it while he cooks breakfast, and Bellamy has to say, it looks a lot better on her.


	12. you’re my emergency contact and i’ve been in an accident so you drop everything to come to the hospital

Bellamy Blake has been Clarke's emergency contact since before they ever started dating, since back in college when she didn't want her parents to get called if she got drunk, and he told her she had better not get herself killed. He's been her emergency contact for so long, she doesn't even know who else to use.

Which isn't to say that she shouldn't have changed it; she absolutely should have. She meant to. It was one of those things on her awful post-relationship to-do list, none of which she really wanted to do. The first, and easiest, was changing her Facebook relationship status to single, and then putting all of his stuff into boxes to leave at his sister's apartment, which was basically where she fizzled out. She didn't want to talk to anyone about it, she didn't want to feel better. She wanted to wallow and be irritable and eat ice cream, not figure out if she'd left anything at his apartment or rebound or drunk-dial him.

And, honestly, who really thinks about updating emergency contacts? It's not like anyone has ever had to call her emergency contact. It's for _emergencies_.

He was never supposed to know.

That's what she's thinking as she drifts in and out of consciousness after the accident, as the paramedics load her into the ambulance. She wants to tell them not to call him, wants to tell them--but it _is_ an emergency. And Bellamy's good in crisis situations. Even if he doesn't come, he'll make sure to send someone who can deal with the situation. Raven, probably. He knows better than to call her mother.

He'll help. Just because they broke up doesn't mean she doesn't trust him. There's no one better.

Still, her last thought before the anesthetic sets in is that she hopes he'll come himself.

When she wakes up, it takes her a minute to remember where she is. Her whole body aches, and the bed is stiffer than hers, the sheets papery and uncomfortable. It's dark, but she can feel someone's hand in hers, someone's warmth at her side.

There was an accident, she remembers. She got hurt.

She opens her eyes slowly, groans when it's painful. Why is opening her eyes _painful_? Everything is the worst.

The hand on hers tightens, and Bellamy says, "Clarke?"

He comes into focus slowly, his hair a mess, his smile soft. His thumb strokes over her knuckle, gentle, and she's pretty sure the way her stomach flips has nothing to do with her injuries.

"Hey," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck."

"The doctor said it was a Prius," he says. "Don't be dramatic." He squeezes her hand. "Do you want painkillers? I can call the nurse."

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Apparently you never updated your emergency contact information."

No, I know," she admits, soft. "But--I figured you'd call Raven or something."

"She's waiting outside. They let me in because I was--" He clears his throat. "I can leave."

Her own fingers spasm, holding onto him without her brain's input. "No, don't go," she says. "I wasn't--it's okay. That you're here. I'm glad."

"You definitely need painkillers," he says, but he doesn't seem upset. "I'm not leaving, but I am getting someone in here to look at you. They said I should when you woke up."

"How long have you been here?"

"A couple hours."

"Bellamy--"

"It's fine," he says. "I went to the bathroom."

"You don't have to be here," she insists. "I should have changed--I didn't mean for them to call you. I didn't think I was going to get in an accident, or I would have updated the contact."

He's quiet for a minute, and she closes her eyes again, lets the rough feeling of his hand tether her to the world. She always loved his hands, even before they started dating, even before she realized how she felt about him. He has the best hands in the world.

"Clarke," he says, fond. "You got hit by a car. Don't worry about them calling me. You can change the contact later if you want."

"If I want?"

"You know me. I'm a control freak. I always want to know what's happening."

There's a knock on the door, and she forces her eyes open again when the nurse comes in, runs through standard questions about how she's feeling, how the pain is. Bellamy doesn't move, and Clarke keeps a firm hold on his hand, just in case he thinks she might want him to go.

The nurse gives her some more pain meds and leaves, and Bellamy squeezes her fingers. "I should go tell everyone you're okay."

"Everyone?"

"Raven, O, Lincoln, I think. Monty and Miller are waiting for texts."

"You could text them."

He doesn't respond, and Clarke closes her eyes again, lets herself drift. She hasn't seen him since they broke up, and it was definitely a defense mechanism. She didn't know how to see him again, because--

"Why did we break up?" she asks.

There's a long pause before he says, "Those painkillers kicked in, huh?"

"I'm serious. Why?"

"Because it wasn't working."

"Yes, it was. I was happy. We could have made it work, right? Why didn't you want to?"

"Clarke," he starts, but he doesn't say anything after. 

"You still care," she says, not caring that she sounds petulant. "You came. And you didn't leave. And--"

"We can't have this conversation right now. If you still want to talk about this when you're not in a fucking hospital on vicodin, let me know. But you haven't wanted to talk to me since--"

"Yes, I did," she says. She tries to sit up, and he's on his feet in an instant, hands on her shoulders.

"Jesus, don't move," he says. "I believe you, okay? We can talk about it when you're better. Just--don't make it worse. I want you to be alive to make me talk about our relationship."

"I don't want you to leave," she says.

"I won't," he promises. "Try to get some sleep."

She's already drifting off again; painkillers are the best. "I want to see you all the time," she admits.

He squeezes her fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

The next time she wakes up, he's asleep, head slumped against his chest, glasses on the bedside table. This time, she's coherent enough to assess her injuries, and they don't seem too bad. Aside from the all-over ache, it's just her right arm that's hurt, apparently broken. Given she actually got hit by a car, she's lucky.

And Bellamy's still here.

He was the one who initiated the breakup, and it still strings. She'd been so happy with him, and part of her wanted to fight him on it, but--if he didn't want to date her, then she didn't want to date him. She thought he loved her. She didn't think she had to convince him of it.

She frees her hand from his to call the nurse, and he stirs awake, blinking at her.

"Hey," he says. "Still feel like you got hit by a truck?"

"No, more like a Prius now." She wets her lips. "I'm going to ask when I can get out of here."

He shoves his glasses on and checks his phone. "It's been less than twenty-four hours since the accident. Don't try to leave yet. Get some rest."

"It's just my arm, right? No internal bleeding?"

"I'm going to defer to a medical professional on this one, but seriously, it's way too soon." He wets his lips. "I need food. Are you going to try to escape if I leave?"

"No."

"Cool." After a pause, he leans over and pecks her cheek. "Seriously, don't run. It would be embarrassing to get caught trying to flee a hospital."

"I'm not going anywhere. I just want to consult with my doctor." She worries her lip. "You don't have to come back. I know you have stuff to do."

"It's summer," he says, with a shrug. "Netflix can wait. But I can leave if--"

"I don't want you to go."

"Then, yeah. I'm just getting food. I'll be back in a few."

The guilt at making her ex-boyfriend stick around the hospital with literally nothing to do sets in the next time she wakes up, when she realizes she's been here for a full twenty-four hours, and so has he, and that's just--he won't leave as long as she says she wants him around, because that's the kind of guy he is. It's the kind of guy he's always been.

"You should go home," she tells him.

"Yeah?"

"You're starting to smell."

"Ouch."

"Seriously, I'm really glad you were here, and it helped, but--you don't have to stay. You went above and beyond. It's uncomfortable and boring and you broke up with me, so--"

"You broke up with me."

"I just didn't argue when you--"

He rubs his face. "This is really not the place for this conversation."

"No," she agrees. They can have that fight later. "But you don't have to stay. I'll be fine alone."

"I know." He pauses. "I'm going to shower and get some work. I can do lesson plans."

"Bellamy--"

"Do you know what it was like, getting that call?" he asks, soft, and Clarke's heart lurches. "I was so fucking scared. I thought you were--"

She squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault someone ran a red light. But--I'm so fucking glad you're okay. And I don't want to go home while you're here."

"Okay. But--go shower."

"Get a sponge bath from a hot nurse. You don't smell great either."

He's still there when she's discharged, and he offers to give her a ride home, since her car is totaled. She has about fifty angry texts from Octavia about what will happen to her if she hurts Bellamy again, and it makes her feel oddly hopeful. She could still hurt him.

She really doesn't want to.

"You didn't change your emergency contact," he says, into the silence of the car.

"No." She looks down at her lap, the cast on her right arm, which is going to take some getting used to. She can't look at him. "I never wanted you to stop being my emergency contact. Even if you broke up with me."

"That's not what happened."

"I asked if you wanted to come to my house for Thanksgiving and you said you didn't think we'd still be dating by then."

He rubs his face. "Yeah, I figured you'd break up with me before that. And I was right."

"I broke up with you because you didn't think I loved you!"

"Do you?" he asks, and she swallows hard.

"This isn't a good place for this conversation either," she says. "I don't want to get in another car accident."

He pulls over, looks at her hard. "I freaked out about Thanksgiving," he says. "It was four months away, and we'd only been dating for two months."

"And I've been in love with you for years."

"Your mom hates me."

"She doesn't."

"She thinks I'm poor and you could do better."

"Who cares? I don't think that! I never thought that!"

"Breathe," he says, but he's smiling a little. "I felt so stupid. But you wouldn't even talk to me, so--"

"I didn't think I could see you without trying to get you back," she admits. "Is this seriously about my _mom_?"

"No. It's--fuck, I couldn't believe it, you know? I wanted this for so long, I didn't think I could get it. I didn't think it could last."

"Wow."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "So, uh--I love you. Still. I don't want to break up with you. Fuck, I'll go home with you for Thanksgiving if you want. I don't care. If you--"

"I love you too," she says. She smiles a little. "I realized they'd call you when I was in the ambulance, and I was really hoping you'd show up."

"Just call me yourself next time, seriously. Don't get hit by a car just so we can work out relationship issues."

She reaches over and takes his hand again. "I won't. You still want to be my emergency contact?"

He squeezes back, brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "Yeah. Always."


	13. i know you can’t cook for shit so i’ve been bringing you dinner every night, just, y’know, to keep you alive

Bellamy's never been particularly good at ending relationships. The only time he ever actually stopped being friends with someone, it was when he broke up with Echo, and that was because she cheated on him and laughed about it. But all of his other breakups, he's never actually wanted to lose contact with his exes, or stop seeing them. He liked them; he wouldn't have been dating them if he didn't.

With Clarke it's that, but to a power of twenty.

"Well, you didn't want to break up with her," Miller says.

"I didn't want to break up with her," he agrees. 

"You know, most people in this situation would try to explain that."

"I will," he says. "I don't even think it's--we're not really broken up. We're just taking a breather."

If anyone else said that to him, he'd think they were bullshitting, or being optimistic, but in this case, he's pretty sure it's true. And not just because he's being stupidly optimistic. It didn't feel like _the end_ , not for either of them.

**Clarke** : Why do I have so many groceries

Case in point: if she was really done with him, he's pretty sure they wouldn't still talk so much. He left the apartment so they would both have some time to cool off, and he was texting her within seventy-two hours, because--well, she's still _Clarke_.

**Me** : To turn into real food

**Clarke** : Explain how

**Me** : I'm tired of hearing you complain about not having any food  
Ergo, groceries

**Clarke** : This isn't food  
This is raw material

**Me** : Do you not have google?

**Clarke** : Why would I google cooking when I could just buy food?  
Answer: because some asshole filled my fridge with groceries

**Me** : Shit  
What a dick  
Next they'll be breaking in to clean your bathtub

**Clarke** : It's a real problem in this neighborhood  
Seriously, doesn't Miller have a kitchen?

**Me** : You cannot eat takeout for every meal  
That's not what adults do

**Clarke** : I'm an adult  
Everything I do is what adults do by definition  
So

**Me** : So my key still works

The phone indicates she's typing, but then indicates she's stopped, and it starts ringing instead. He flops back on the couch and picks up with a flat, "What."

"You cannot seriously be planning to cook for me."

"And Miller."

"What?" says Miller.

"You know I suck at cooking for just one person," he says. "I can cook for you and bring leftovers back to Miller. It's the perfect crime. Or Miller can come. That's less awkward, right?"

"Maybe for you," says Miller.

"We don't have wi-fi, so you'd be helping us out."

There's a pause, as he expected, and then she says, "How do you not have wi-fi?"

"We don't know how to set it up."

"It's not hard!"

"Neither is cooking, but here we are."

"God, Bellamy."

"Seriously, this is exactly how I feel when you post about burning cereal."

"It said it was good warm!"

"This is what I'm saying." He leans back, closing his eyes. "If I cook at your place, you get leftovers."

"And what do you get?"

"The ability to take care of myself, like an adult."

"You still have a key," she says, after a long pause. "I would have made you give it to me if I didn't want you to use it."

*

Bellamy knows it's on him to fix this breakup, because he's the one in the wrong, at least broadly. Not that Clarke didn't say bad things too, but--she started from a place that he knows is reasonable, and he's the one who couldn't deal with it. He knows she's right, and he's wrong, but he can't figure out how to accept it yet.

Miller insists on sitting in the hall to steal Clarke's wi-fi, presumably to avoid the break-up conversation that he and Clarke are still having a week later, and Clarke sits on the counter while he cooks.

"Is this your way of proving you have enough money?" she asks. "Because I put forty bucks in your bag while you were in the bathroom. I know how much groceries cost."

"No," he says, and means it. "I was going to tell you how much you owed me anyway."

"But you're doing labor."

"So you want to pay me for cooking for you?"

She rubs her face. "I want you to stop being stubborn and think about this."

"I am thinking about it." He wets his lips. "Have you actually told anyone we broke up?"

"Just Raven. She says we're both idiots and asked who else knew so she could put money on when we get back together. You still just told Miller, right?"

"Yeah."

"Not much of a betting pool."

"You want to tell more people?" he asks, and she winces.

"That's not what I meant." She glances at him. "This isn't going to last forever, right? She's not wrong."

He closes his eyes. "I don't like you paying for things."

"I know. But this isn't _things_. This is a house."

"You want to have this fight again right now?"

"No, I want to stop having this fight. Which we can't do unless we have it." She slides off the counter and leans into his side, and he's missed her so much it's _unreal_. Especially given he's seen her. But he wants to touch her, to be close to her, to not be living on Miller's couch because he's too stubborn to talk to her.

"This is cheating," he says, putting his arm around her.

"It's not cheating. I miss you, and you won't admit you might be wrong."

"No, I know I am," he says. He lets out a breath. "You know, this is a learnable skill. Cooking. If you pay attention, you can start doing this yourself."

"You've been saying that since we met." 

"And it's been true the whole time."

"Yeah, but if I learned to cook, you wouldn't do it for me."

"Yes, I would." He lets his arm slide around her waist, squeezes once, and then makes himself let go, which is a lot harder. "Put salt in the water and then pasta."

There's a pause, and then her lips on his shoulder. "Okay."

*

"Did you and Clarke break up?" Octavia demands, two days later.

"Technically."

It's Saturday, and he's at Clarke's apartment, rooting around in the fridge for lunch stuff while she showers. They're still broken up, and they still haven't really talked about the actual issue. He hasn't kissed her in ten days, and it sucks.

"Technically?"

"I was pissed for like three days," he admits. "And then I realized I was being stupid, but--"

"But you're still stupid. Are you living on Miller's couch? Do I have to come down there?"

"You can always visit," he says. "But it might be weird, since I'm already on Miller's couch. You could probably stay with Clarke. She likes you."

She heaves a long-suffering sigh. "What the fuck happened, Bell?"

"She wants to buy a house."

"And?"

"And I can't afford it. So she says she'll pay for it."

"And?"

"And I don't want her to."

"That's it?"

"It's a big deal."

And it is. Clarke is richer than he is, and he's always known that. It was a source of tension for a while, before they started dating, back when he just thought she was a spoiled princess who'd had everything handed to her, who didn't understand hardship. He thought they'd dealt with it by the time they started dating, but--it stings, sometimes, the things Clarke can do without thinking. The things she takes for granted.

They've always been equals in their relationship, and that matters to him too. 

"So figure it out," she says, which is valid feedback. "You don't have to break up over housing."

"That's why I said technically." He swallows, and lets himself admit, "If she does this, I can't ever pay her back."

"Maybe she doesn't want you to pay her back." She's quiet, and then says, "I know you've always been able to take care of yourself, Bell. And the people who matter to you. I know what that means to you. But--you take care of Clarke in all kinds of ways. It doesn't have to all be about some--stupid bottom line."

"I know," he says. "Fuck, I don't--it's not like I want her to be poor and miserable. And I hate that every fight we have is about money. But--"

"But you're a dick about money."

"Basically." He scrubs his hand over his face. "You think I don't want to live in a house with her? Fuck. She was so excited too. Like--we could get a dog. And it feels like this great first step, you know? House, dog--" A lump rises in his throat.

"Marriage, kids, happily ever after," O supplies.

"Yeah. And I want all that, but--I don't want to feel like it's hers, and I'm just renting a place in her life."

"You know that's not how it works, Bell."

"I know. But that's how it feels."

He jumps at the sound of a throat clearing, and Clarke's in the doorway, wearing a bathrobe, her eyes soft and sad. "Full disclosure," she says. "I heard some of that."

"Uh, I gotta call you back, O."

"Talk to your girlfriend!"

"I know." He hangs up, makes himself meet her eyes. "How much?"

"House, dog," she says. "I want that too."

"I know."

She considers, but moves closer to him, deliberate. "So--here's the thing. I want to marry you."

It's not news, but he's still never going to get tired of hearing her say it. "Yeah, me too."

"And if we get married, all of this stuff--I know how much you care about us being equals and you paying your own way, but I don't think of this as--it's not _my_ money. It's not _my_ apartment, or _my_ house. It's not my _life_ , Bellamy. It's--I want it to be yours too. I want it to be _ours_. I get that you think I'm--" He can see her swallow, and it takes everything in him to not go over and wrap her up in his arms, to not tell her how much he loves her. But he really wants to know what she's going to say. "It feels like you're always keeping score, and that's--you don't have to be. We're in this together." And that's the point when her voice catches. "Or--I want us to be."

"Fuck," he says, and gives up, pulls her close and buries his nose in her hair. She holds him back, fierce, and the sound of her sniffle is basically enough to destroy him. "That's not--it's not like that."

"I know. But it feels like that."

He laughs, soft, and rubs his hand over her back, a soothing motion. "Yeah. I get that." He swallows. "Money's just been--fuck. It's been such a big deal to me, my whole life, you know?"

"I know."

"I know it's not like--you can afford it. And you want to. And I'm a dick for telling you not to do it."

"It was supposed to be a discussion." He can hear her wry smile in her voice. "I knew it was going to be bad, I just didn't think it would be _this_ bad."

"Yeah, that was a surprise for everyone." 

"I don't know what to do, if--this would be good for us. You know it as well as I do. And it's stupid not to do it just because--"

"Just because I'm poor."

"You're not poor. You have a good job, you get paid well, but you're not independently wealthy. I'm lucky. We don't have to pretend like I'm not. You can pay rent if it makes you feel better. Or I buy the house and you furnish it. We've got options."

"You buy the house and I get the groceries."

She laughs, soft. "I know you don't trust me with the cooking."

"You can work on it."

"I don't want to work on it. I want you to cook me dinner for the rest of our lives, and I'll do the dishes. We don't have to do the same stuff to be even, Bellamy. You're good at this when it's not money."

"I know," he says. He sighs. "You buy a house, and I live there."

"I buy a house _for us_ ," she says. "I don't want to be your landlord or--it's going to be our house, Bellamy. And if that's something you can't--if we can't figure out how to deal with this, then I don't think we can be together."

It's sadder than the first time they talked about it, less anger and more resignation, and he tugs her close.

"I want to," he says, and he's about to kiss her when the fire alarm goes off.

"Wait, did _you_ burn food?" she asks. She actually sounds delighted about it, like Christmas has come early.

He loves her so much it's unreal.

"You distracted me!" 

By the time they get the alarm turned off and the kitchen aired out, the moment has passed, and he doesn't know exactly how to bring it back. He knows everything she's saying is true, but he doesn't know how to stop feeling--uneven. For as long as they've been friends, they've felt like equals, and he doesn't know how to feel like that, if she buys them a house.

"I don't care that your salary's higher than mine," he says. "That's--I love my job. I wouldn't want to do anything else. But I feel like if you do this, I'm always going to be behind. I'm never going to feel like I don't owe you."

"You know that's the stupidest thing in the world, right?" She leans her head on his shoulder. "You're coming over to cook me dinner because you know I'd order pizza every night without you."

"Yeah, of course I am."

"Because you can. And--I can do this, and you can't. You could, someday. We'd get up enough money that we could split the cost of a house. But our lease is expiring and I want a yard and a dog. And I want all that _with you_. You don't have to pay me back, because everything I've got is already yours, Bellamy. And I want it to always be yours."

He does kiss her then, and she kisses back, instant and relieved, ten stupid days of a fight he couldn't even articulate properly melting into the slide of lips, the press of bodies.

"We still have to talk," she murmurs, but she's not pulling away.

"I know," he says. "I know."

"I don't want you to feel like you owe me, but--"

"I know," he says again. "Fuck, I want that, okay? I just--I don't get things. I give them. That's who I am."

"You give me plenty of things."

He smirks. "Yeah, I've got something to give you," he says, and she snorts and bites his lower lip.

"Yeah, I set myself up for that one." But the sobriety of the conversation is lingering in the air. She rests her face against his neck, and he leans his cheek against her hair, holding her close. It's not like they've never fought before; they argue all the time, bicker. But this felt like the unstoppable force and the immovable object, like some sort of cultural difference that they couldn't articulate, let alone resolve. It felt like they knew two different languages, and he was trying to explain a word that didn't exist in hers. "I really want to marry you," she says. "But I need you to stop keeping score."

He lets out a breath, because--he doesn't feel like that. It's not like that with anything but money, but--he's always had to scrimp, and he's always hated charity. 

But Clarke isn't giving him charity. Clarke is the girlfriend who picks up dinner on the way home and frowns when he insists on paying her back. The one who gets him a present and knows she needs to tell him how much it cost, so he can get her something of equivalent value.

And she does. Because she gets it. But--it's irrational, too. And it's not a good place for either of them to be, in a relationship.

He takes a deep breath. "So, lunch is a bust."

"You set off the fire alarm," she says, smug. "That was all you. I didn't do a thing."

"Yeah, yeah." He strokes his thumb against her side. "You should take me out to lunch."

She looks at him, considering. "Somewhere fancy?"

"Do you want to go somewhere fancy?"

"No," she admits. "But we should day-drink. And I pay for everything."

"You pay for everything," he says. "Start small, right?"

"Yeah." She leans in for another kiss. "Can we get your stuff from Miller's after?"

"Unless we're too wasted, sure."

She laughs, gets off his lap to tug him up. "You didn't even bring all your stuff. We'd have to be really drunk to not get your stuff back."

"You are paying. I could get really drunk," he says, and rests his forehead against hers, just for a second. "I can't promise I'm done freaking out about this," he adds, soft.

"I know. But--we can get through it, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "I think we can."

*

The third house they look at is perfect, not too large, with a fenced-in yard and a state-of-the-art kitchen.

"He likes to cook," Clarke tells the realtor, while Bellamy admires the oven. He could make _roasts_ in here. He could do such a good Thanksgiving dinner. And they'd have a table, so Octavia and Lincoln could come. Miller and Raven too. All their friends. Everyone.

"That's so nice," says the woman. "My husband doesn't even know which side of the pot faces down."

"Yeah, that's about where I am too," she says. "But I have other talents."

"That's how it is, in a good relationship," the realtor continues sagely. "Give and take."

Bellamy closes up the oven and takes Clarke's hand, squeezes gently. She beams up at him. "Yeah," she agrees. "That's how it should be."


	14. we’re at a harry potter themed halloween party and you and i are the ONLY hufflepuffs, what the heck?

"You owe me," Clarke tells Maya, tugging on her tie.

Maya glances at her and rolls her eyes. "I owe you for asking you to come to a Harry Potter party with me? You love Harry Potter."

"Not because of the party. The party's fine. But you owe me for being the Hufflepuff."

Maya lets out a soft giggle, which was basically what Clarke was hoping for. The whole reason she agreed to be the Hufflepuff was that Maya wanted to try something new. She's been having so much trouble since she got out of her last shitty relationship, and just seeing her excited at the prospect of going to a party was amazing. When she asked if she could wear Clarke's Slytherin tie instead of her own Hufflepuff, Clarke hadn't had the heart to say no.

But she feels like a fraud. 

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" Maya asks.

"Nothing. But _I'm_ not a Hufflepuff."

"And I'm not a Slytherin. It's Halloween, Clarke. You're allowed to be something you're not." She smiles. "But I do owe you. Thanks."

It's impossible to be mad at Maya. She's too sweet. And if she wants to try being cold and hard for a night, if she thinks it'll make her feel better, then Clarke will be a Hufflepuff. It's not like she's _not_ loyal and hardworking. It just never feels like she's the right kind of loyal and hardworking for Hufflepuffs.

Whatever. She can fake it for a night.

There are a couple guys manning the door, one in Ravenclaw colors and the other in Slytherin, and they look Clarke and Maya over with more curiosity than interest. Which is a shame, because they're cute. Not that Clarke's necessarily looking, but--it _is_ a party. And it's been a while since she and Lexa broke up.

"Welcome," says the Ravenclaw. "Names and houses?"

"Is there a guest list?" asks Clarke.

"Nope. If you're dressed right, we'll let you in. But we're doing activities later, so we need house lists."

"Maya Vie," says Maya. "Sytherin."

"Oh, _Maya_ ," says the guy. "Jasper's friend," he adds, to his friend.

"Huh," says the Slytherin. 

"I guess Bellamy isn't going to be the only Hufflepuff."

"Which just means he'll be more of a dick. If he was alone, he'd complain about how he's alone, but if there are two he'll just be bitter about missing out on being the only one." He grins at Clarke's expression. "My asshole best friend."

"You're really making me excited about this," she says. "Clarke Griffin. Hufflepuff, apparently."

"Cool," says the Ravenclaw. "I'm Monty, this is Miller. Jasper's one of our housemates. He's with the drinks, which are in the back. We've got some activities at nine, so if you want to avoid that, leave before then. And have fun!"

Inside the house, it's like most parties Clarke has been to: too hot and loud, with the smell of alcohol and sweat in the air. But it is kind of fun, seeing so many people dressed in robes. A few even have actual Quidditch outfits, which is impressive, and Clarke keeps a mental tally of house representation. It's mostly Gryffindors, which doesn't surprise her; not only is that probably the most popular house, but it's the easiest one to find merchandise for. Slytherin is next, and then scattered Ravenclaws, but the guys at the door weren't lying: she doesn't see a single other Hufflepuff.

Whoever Bellamy is, he's not making himself readily apparent.

Maya's friend Jasper is at the refreshment table, dressed in Gryffindor Quidditch robes with a pair of goggles askew on his forehead. He's cute, if not exactly Clarke's type, and his open happiness at seeing Maya goes a long way toward endearing him to her. He looks kind of like an overeager puppy, but at least he has good taste in people.

"Hey, you made it!"

"Thanks for inviting me! This is my friend Clarke."

Jasper does a double-take. "Oh, wow. We're not seeing a lot of Hufflepuff."

"Yeah, I heard I was the second."

He looks around, craning his neck. "You and Bellamy, yeah. I don't know where he went. He might just be hiding in his room. But you guys won't be in bad shape for the activities if it's only you two. The bigger houses are breaking into groups anyway."

"I think we'll have trouble winning the house cup with just two people," she says, dry, and Jasper's grin widens. "If everyone else is in house groups, it just means they have more teams who can win for them."

"There are individual prizes, but the house cup is just a big cake, so everyone's going to win," he tells her. His attention shifts to Maya. "Honestly, I wasn't guessing Slytherin for you."

"Yeah? What did you think?"

"I was hoping Gryffindor, so we'd be in the same house. But if I was just picking for you, I think Ravenclaw."

"Really?"

"Definitely. But Slytherin is cool. I'm not one of those people who judges based on house. We're all wizards here, right?"

"I sort of figured I'd be a muggle-born," Maya admits.

"No less a wizard," he says, firm. "Did we learn nothing from defeating Voldemort?" He seems to remember Clarke is there and blushes. Probably good for Maya, honestly. "Sorry, I'm totally failing my duties. Do you guys want drinks? What do you want for drinks?"

Clarke gets a rum and coke and then, once Maya and Jasper seem to be having a good conversation about what positions they'd play in Quidditch, asks where the bathroom is. 

Maya offers to go with her, because of course she does, but Clarke smiles. "I can go to the bathroom alone. Stay here. I'll be back."

The party seems to have consumed the whole house, which is really a lot of people. It reminds Clarke of college, a bunch of people chatting and dancing, and she wouldn't know how to get this many people together, even if she wanted to.

But at least everyone is clearly kind of a nerd.

She texts Maya that she's going to check out the video game situation and then tries to figure out where the video game situation even _is_ , just so she won't be a total liar. She can hear people jeering, which in her experience is always a good sign for video games. But before she makes it to them, she bumps into someone, and a deep voice says, "Whoa, watch out."

She looks up into a handsome, freckled face, all dark eyes and white teeth. He has hipster glasses crooked on his nose and thick, curly black hair, with--

"Wow, you're the Hufflepuff?" she asks, without thinking.

He blinks. "What?"

"Sorry," she says. It probably isn't polite to tell someone they're too hot to be a Hufflepuff, but--wow, he's not what she was expecting. He looks like James Potter; he should probably be a Gryffindor. "I've just been hearing a lot about you."

He glances down, looks genuinely shocked himself at her yellow tie. "I guess so. I was figuring I'd be the only one."

"That's what I heard from--Miller? I think it was Miller."

"Probably. The Slytherin at the door?" She nods, and he offers his hand. "Bellamy."

"Clarke. Are you really a Hufflepuff?"

"Yeah, I went to Hogwarts and got sorted," he says, dry. "What do you mean, _really a Hufflepuff_?"

"I'm a Slytherin," she admits. "But my roommate wanted to try out being a Slytherin for the night, so we switched."

"Huh. So, you're a Slytherin masquerading as a Hufflepuff?"

"Sorry. And I'm kind of torn on my roommate as a Hufflepuff, honestly. I think she'd make a better Ravenclaw."

"Typical," says Bellamy. "Hufflepuff's not a last-resort house, you know. And a lot of people who think they're Slytherins are definitely Hufflepuffs who want to feel like badasses."

"Yeah?" she asks. "How do you figure?"

He considers her, like he's not convinced she's really interested in hearing his thoughts on Harry Potter. Like really hot people talking about their detailed thoughts on the sorting process _isn't_ a kink of hers. "Okay, come on."

He guides her away from the crowd, into the kitchen, which is brighter and louder. He's really, really cute; Clarke kind of wants to play with his hair. _And_ he's going to talk about Harry Potter. As a bonus.

"So, here's the thing," he says. "People want to be Gryffindors or Slytherins. Okay, sometimes Ravenclaws, but--mostly those two. I get why Hufflepuff is the least exciting. But I think Slytherin gets romanticized a lot. Makes sense, don't get me wrong. They get a really bum deal in the books, and we don't want to think it's that simple. But a lot of the positive stuff people end up associating with Slytherin, I think it's more Hufflepuff stuff. There's actually a lot of crossover in what people value in Slytherin and what people value in Hufflepuff." He pauses. "And Slytherins in the books are kind of racist assholes. Uh, no offense."

"Okay, I can see that," Clarke says. "I see Slytherin loyalty and Hufflepuff loyalty as different, though."

"Yeah, I don't mean they're the same. I think a lot of people who think they're Slytherins are Hufflepuffs who want to feel like they're badass, though."

"Probably." She leans against the counter, studying him. "Okay, you want to know why I'm a Slytherin?"

"Go for it."

"One," she says, counting on her fingers. "Privileged. If I was in the wizarding world, I'd definitely be a pureblood. I think my dad would be a Ravenclaw, but my mom is a Slytherin, from a long line of Slytherins. And I'm eleven, right? I didn't start rebelling and being my own person until a lot later. So even leaving everything else aside, I think I'd be on the family house to start with. I'm loyal, but I hold grudges. If I trust someone, I trust them, and if they break that trust, it's bad. That's the difference between Slytherin loyalty and Hufflepuff loyalty to me. Spite."

"Okay, yeah. I'll buy that. I don't get angry like that."

"And when I don't get my way? I try to game the system. Honesty seems really big for Hufflepuffs. That's not really me. I get what I want, and I know how to do it, but--it's a Slytherin way to do stuff."

He laughs. "I'm glad your argument is about your faults. That's a good place to start."

"That's not a fault," she says. "It's a tactic. It's not like being honest is always good."

"No, I guess not. But that's not really a defining trait of mine."

"Really?" She cocks her head. "You strike me as pretty honest."

"I'd rather tell the truth," he says, grudging. "But that doesn't mean it's one of my big personality traits."

"Okay, so, what makes you a Hufflepuff? Convert me."

"No, I'm pretty sure you're a Slytherin. I bought that." He takes a drink of his beer. "Okay, so, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a Gryffindor. Brave and daring and shit. I like that. That was the kind of person I wanted to be. But--eleven, right?"

"Eleven."

"My sister was born when I was six, and as soon as that happened, I stopped being that guy. If I ever really was. I dunno, I probably could be. But--she was my responsibility, from the day she was born. There's nothing she could do to--"

"Loyalty," Clarke says.

"I'd do anything for her, yeah. I'd be brave. I'd be fucking ruthless. But I know why. I know what the most important thing is." He looks at his beer. "Fuck. I must be drunk. I didn't really mean to spill my weird childhood on the Hogwarts sorting process."

Clarke has to laugh. "Yeah, no, I don't mind. It's nice to hear someone who's really passionate about Hufflepuff, honestly. I feel like it's usually kind of the _et cetera_ house."

"Yeah. Which is also a Hufflepuff thing. Loyalty and acceptance. Taking anyone."

"And that's how you are?"

"Apparently. Octavia says I'll adopt anyone if they stand still long enough."

"Octavia?"

"My little sister. She's around here somewhere. One of the Gryffindors."

"Wow. I'm amazed you let her get away with that."

He snorts. "Yeah, uh, trust me. She's all Gryffindor. In the bad ways too."

"Did you sort everyone else?"

"Miller and I had a fight about it."

"The Slytherin?"

"I think he's a Hufflepuff too. We'd definitely be housemates. But he thinks he's more cunning and I think he's more dependable. Monty's fine in Ravenclaw, I wasn't going to fight him on that. I could put him pretty much anywhere. Jasper's a lot like Octavia."

"So you just didn't trust my self-assessment."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I was hoping you were wrong."

"Sorry I'm not really in your house."

"No, that's not why. Just a natural distrust of white girls with blonde hair and blue eyes who identify with the racist asshole house."

He's smiling now, so she smiles back. "Yeah, okay. Fair enough. I like to think seven years at Hogwarts would do me some good. College definitely did."

"Yeah, you seem pretty self-aware."

"So I'd use my powers and influence to make other Slytherins better. Rowling did give the house a raw deal." She nudges her shoulder against his. "But for today, I'm going to use my powers to help Hufflepuff win this party."

"Yeah?"

"It's in the bag."

As it turns out, Bellamy is also a lot more competitive than Clarke would have expected from a Hufflepuff, as well as being a giant nerd, and since Clarke is ruthless and also a nerd, they basically dominate all of the activities Jasper and Monty came up with. Maya keeps throwing her knowing looks, which Clarke wants to ignore, but--he _is_ hot. And he's thought about Harry Potter a lot. She's into it.

"I think this was a really good argument for inter-house cooperation," he remarks. They definitely won more events for Hufflepuff than any of the other houses got with their whole team. Not that they're getting a house prize, but--if there was one, they would win it. No question.

"Yeah," she says. "Slytherins and Hufflepuffs work pretty well together."

"Cut from the same cloth." He pauses. "In the spirit of Hufflepuff honesty, I should tell you I'm trying to figure out a good way to turn _inter-house cooperation_ into a pickup line. But I'm not doing that well with the phrasing."

"In the spirit of Slytherin craftiness, I should tell you I noticed like five places in this house where we could sneak off to make out."

A relieved smile breaks out on his face, all bright and delighted. "Yeah, uh, you know this is my house too, right? I have a room of my own. We don't have to sneak off."

"Should have said," Clarke says, and leans up to peck him on the mouth. "Just give me a second."

Maya is chatting with Jasper and Monty, but she gives Clarke a smug look when she comes over. "Having fun?"

"I'm going to go check out the Hufflepuff common room," she says. "Are you okay to go home alone or do you want me to come back with you?"

"I'll be fine. I told you you'd have fun being a Hufflepuff," she adds, with a sly smile.

"Yeah, no, I'm still a Slytherin all the way," she says. "But Hufflepuffs are definitely growing on me."


	15. teachers!Bellarke doing trick or treat at their school but they gotta keep their competitiveness lowkey because students and parents are around

Trick-or-Teach is Bellamy's baby.

He came up with the idea when he was fourteen, after they got kicked out of another apartment and ended up in an even sketchier neighborhood, and he'd been pretty worried about taking Octavia out to trick-or-treat. They could have just gone somewhere else, which was their usual--after all, Halloween was the one time they could fleece rich people without any danger of being caught--but he couldn't help thinking it was probably a problem for _everyone_. O's school was probably full of kids whose parents worried about them going out for the holiday.

Which was why he'd gone to her principal and asked if they couldn't do something _at_ the school.

"Get teachers and some volunteers to do it in the classrooms," he said. "Logistics would be a pain the first year, but it would be great for the kids who have trouble going near home."

The principal agreed that it was a good idea and he'd think about it, but nothing materialized. Bellamy went back every Halloween for the next few years, while Octavia was still in elementary school, and every year the principal said it was a good idea they'd try to put into action.

Once he becomes a teacher himself, he realizes the principal might have even meant it; he just had a lot to do and didn't want to prioritize it as much as Bellamy did.

But he still thinks it's a good idea, which is why he makes it happen himself. It's because of Octavia that he decided to teach elementary instead of high school, and it's because of how they grew up that he decided to go for a low-income school, even if he's afraid he'll burn out in no time. Trick-or-Teach helps with that, for all it's just one night at the beginning of each year. It's something that makes him feel like he's doing real good, him, personally. Something that will outlast him and keep on making people happy.

Which is why he really, really, really should not turn it into an excuse to further his stupid thing with Clarke.

Clarke is the art teacher, and she missed Trick-or-Teach last year because she got brought on in December, after the previous art teacher went on extended medical leave and then quit. The two of them get along in the most juvenile way possible; they seek each other out at every event to bicker and snipe, but when any of their other coworkers say Clarke is too young or too rich or anything like that, Bellamy will fight them tooth and nail for her right to be here. And, according to Miller, she's the same way with him, and has on multiple occasions snapped at people for saying he's _too invested_ and _freakishly motivated_ and _kind of a dick_.

So, they're friends, but they don't admit it, and he definitely has a crush on her, which he likes admitting even less, because it makes him feel like he's fucking _twelve_. Or maybe a little older; he didn't get to the point of actually interacting with his crushes until he hit high school. Mostly, he feels off balance and stupid over her, and the last thing he wants is for that to get in the way of his favorite event.

At the same time, it's a fun after-school event that involves costumes and decorating; of course he wants to talk to her about it. They don't get to see each other that much on a typical day, so events like this are a perfect opportunity for him.

She must be thinking the same thing, because a week before Halloween, she plops down across from him in the teachers' lounge and asks, "So, are you doing this Halloween thing?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Halloween thing?"

"Trick-or-Teach. Are you doing it, or do you have other Halloween stuff?"

Her face is open and interested, all genuine curiosity, and he guesses she wouldn't have any way of knowing that he always does it, because it's his event. It's been a regular part of life for a few years now, and everyone is used to it. It's no longer something he has to fight for.

Weirdly enough, it's kind of a relief. He almost doesn't want her to know that this is important to him, and he's glad she hasn't found out yet. With any luck, she just won't. She might feel obliged to say nice things about it, and it doesn't really feel like something he deserves special credit for. Especially not from Clarke.

"I'm doing it," he tells her. "Why?"

"I couldn't help noticing your decorations are kind of--sad," she says, with the tones of someone who is deeply disappointed. "I know some fifth graders think they're too old for this stuff, but you don't even have bats up. No one's gonna come to your room."

"I don't follow."

"It's like you've never been trick-or-treating. It's like peacocks. You want to have the brightest plumage, that's how kids know you have the best candy."

"That is a genuinely creepy analogy," he says. "You know who uses bright decorations and candy to lure children in? Witches."

"Hey, if you're going to learn, you should learn from the best. They knew what they were doing." She nudges him. "Seriously, do you need help with your room?"

"You want to help?"

"It's not really a fair fight if no one even comes to you," she says.

He feels like he's about five minutes behind on this conversation, which is par for the course with Clarke. If he's not ahead of the game, it means she is. "Which fight is this? Are we fighting?"

"Whoever gets the most kids, right? I have way too many advantages."

"Advantages? What advantages do you have?"

"I know more kids than you do," she says. "You get the kids until they're older, so they're less likely to think about going to you if they aren't in fifth or sixth grade. I see all the kids in every grade. And a lot of the older kids are probably getting too old to trick-or-treat, especially at school. So you're going to need decorations if you have a chance of competing with me. I just want to even the playing field."

"So you're offering to help me decorate my classroom?"

"Free of charge."

"What do I get if I win?"

"Huh?"

"You seem pretty convinced I'm not gonna get more kids than you do. What do I get if I do?"

"The satisfaction of a job well done."

"Pass." He smirks. "You're the one who wants to win. I assumed that meant there were stakes."

"I can't believe you haven't noticed that I don't need a reason to turn everything into a competition," she says, and he laughs.

"Good point. When do you want to help me decorate my room?"

Her grin is bright and genuine, all excitement, an expression he's never seen on her before. It's a lot to deal with, honestly. "As soon as possible. Seriously, your room hurts me, Bellamy."

"There is something wrong with you," he tells her. But his own smile is inevitable. "I'm not busy after school today."

*

She shows up before the last few kids have cleared out, her arms full of _stuff_ , her hair falling out of her bun.

"Hey Katie, hey Lee," she says, nodding to the kids. "Hi, Mr. Blake. I've got the stuff you asked for."

"And then some," he says, dry. "You guys should get out while you can," he adds to the students. "I've been told I need to embrace the spirit of the holiday."

"Halloween is the best," she says. "You two are welcome to help out, if you want."

"Seriously, run," he advises. "I'll distract her so you can get away."

Once they've scampered off, Bellamy turns his attention to Clarke. She's dumped her armload onto one of the groups of desks and is starting to pick through it. It's really impressive, how much stuff she has.

"Did someone leave you a bunch of Halloween decorations in their will and you're trying to get rid of it?" he asks, picking up a bright construction-paper pumpkin. "Is it cursed? How did you get this together so quickly?"

"It's cursed," she says. "Definitely cursed." But then she shoots him a sheepish smile. "Honestly, I made too much stuff for my room and that I ran out of places to put it. But I saw your room didn't have any decorations, so--"

"So you're getting rid of your leftovers."

"It's _fun_ , Bellamy. Don't you like Halloween?"

"I do, yeah. I just don't like decorating very much. I'm not great at it."

"Which is why I'm here. Come help me get the rest of it?"

"Jesus, there's _more_?"

She actually blushes. "I've never had a classroom of my own before. I'm an _art teacher_. I like making decorations."

"So I have this to look forward to every holiday, huh?"

"You're getting so many snowflakes," she says. "And leaves."

"My kids are going to make fun of me."

"Your kids love you," she says, with a roll of her eyes. "They definitely think your grumpy-old-man act is cute. So if you complain about how the art teacher made you decorate, they'll just think it's funny."

"Yeah, no way," he says without thinking. At the cock of her head, he flushes. "Do you not get how kids work? They think I'm dating every woman I have ever mentioned. If I ever explain bisexuality to them, they'll probably just assume Miller and I are married."

"Aren't you?" she asks, and he snorts. "I guess you're right. Sorry, I should have waited until everyone cleared out to come by."

"It's fine," he says. "I really do like Halloween," he adds. "It'll be fun, having decorations up."

She rewards him with another brilliant smile, and he can't help hoping she really _does_ start doing this all the time.

"I'm still going to kick your ass at Trick-or-Teach," she says, all confidence. "But at least you'll have a chance."

"Keep telling yourself," he says. "It's just going to make my victory sweeter."

*

"Wow, this actually looks nice," says Octavia, sounding impressed. "The hallway is always cool, but your room is usually boring and sad. These are so cute." She pokes a bat, watching as it bounces. "There's no way you did all this."

"The art teacher had leftovers," he says. 

His attempt to play it cool is completely unsuccessful, because he's just not very good at it. "The art teacher you've got a crush on?"

"No, the other one. Shut up, O."

"That's adorable. She made you bats."

"She made herself bats." He clears his throat. Octavia always comes for Trick-or-Teach because, one, she lives in an apartment building and kids never come to her place, and, two, she has a thing for one of the second-grade teachers and she'll take any chance to come by the school and talk to him, so he feels like she's not in a position to be throwing any stones. At the same time, she's still technically doing him a favor, and he doesn't want to jeopardize that. "I was actually going to go see how her room looked, if you're good here."

"Kids aren't even showing up for another half an hour, Bell. No one has to be here. I want to look around too."

"So, you want to go see Lincoln."

"And you want to go see your art teacher girlfriend," she says. "We're totally on the same page."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Good talk. Be back here in fifteen minutes."

He and the rest of the fifth- and sixth-grade teachers _did_ do a good job on decorating their hallway, if he does say so himself. Mr. Pike and Mrs. Kane both have kids of their owns who are too old for trick-or-treating now, and he's pretty sure they like having the excuse to get really into the holiday. 

It is, admittedly, nice that his room is keeping with the theme.

The art room is right beneath his, just two floors down, which makes him happy, when he thinks about it. He likes knowing he could be standing right above Clarke, that she could be looking up and thinking he's above her.

He might have more than a crush.

He hears Clarke before he sees her, saying, "I'm going to fall off this chair and die."

"It's a chair," someone else says. "If you can't stand on a chair, you deserve to die."

"Thanks. If I die on Halloween, I'm definitely coming back as a ghost and haunting you."

"Yeah, cool. Get stapling, Griffin. You want to be done before the kids get here, right?"

"Do you guys need help?" he asks, and Clarke and her friend both jerk toward him. To his relief, Clarke doesn't fall off the chair, but she is surprisingly precarious. She's just a little too short to comfortably staple her garland up, and for all her friend sounded dismissive, she's obviously watching to make sure nothing goes wrong.

"What are you doing down here?" Clarke asks.

"I wanted to see how your hallway looked," he says. "Seriously, do want help with that? Where's everyone else?"

"I'm the only one on this floor who doesn't have actual children," she admits. "Raven is taking Mrs. Wallace's room and that's it for down here."

The other girl offers Bellamy her hand. "Hi, I'm Raven."

"Shit, just two rooms down here?" he asks.

"It's not a big deal," says Clarke.

He worries his lip. "I bet Maya wouldn't mind if I used her room."

Clarke frowns. "You have a room."

"My sister's here. She can take my room, I can come down here. Just so it's not quite so empty. Besides, that's fair, right? If I'm upstairs and you're down here, we won't really be on even footing for who's more popular. Like you said, I'm disadvantaged."

"So, you're going to use Maya's room and steal her popularity?" she asks, but she sounds amused.

"I'm going to text her and make sure it's okay first. Seriously," he adds. "It's a lot more fun for the kids if as many rooms are open as possible. I should have thought of it when Maya said she couldn't make it. O won't mind."

Her mouth twitches. "I'm not going to stop you. But help us hang stuff first."

He texts Maya to make sure she doesn't mind him going into her room, and by the time he's done with Clarke's decorations, she's texted back with her consent and instructions to get Clarke to unlock the room for him.

"I just need to go grab some candy and stuff from my room," he says. "Back in a minute."

"Can't wait," says Raven, in an odd tone, and Clarke elbows her.

Octavia's smug as anything, and he doesn't really have any kind of defense for himself, so he just changes into his costume, gives her shoulders a squeeze and tells her not to break anything.

Downstairs, Clarke has Maya's door open and a chair out, and she's decorating a desk for him while Raven leans against the wall, looking somewhat amused.

"You really want this to be a fair fight, huh?" he asks, and she jumps, looking a little embarrassed. And then she sees his costume and gives him a very obvious once over. Which--okay, he didn't think Roman legion armor was exactly a turn on, but he's absolutely not objecting.

"Nice costume," she says. "Not dorky at all."

"I've got a reputation to uphold. Grumpy history nerd. Where's your costume, anyway?"

"Good question." She hands over the pile of construction paper. "Finish up decorating, I need to change."

Raven comes over to help him, which mostly means they're both looking at the desk and not doing anything. She's wearing a witch costume and definitely gorgeous, but the way she says, "So, you're Bellamy," suggests both that he shouldn't hit on her and that he might have a chance with Clarke. Which makes this, officially, the best Halloween ever.

"I'm Bellamy," he agrees. "Raven?"

"Yup. Nice to meet you."

"Are you any good at decorating? Because I'm shitty at it."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Nope. That's Clarke's thing, and she's definitely going to redo whatever we do because we suck."

"If she keeps helping me out, I'm definitely going to win this thing."

"God, please tell me you're not actually competing about who gives more kids candy. You guys are right across from each other. Pretty sure you're going to get the exact same number of people."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he grumbles, and she snorts.

"Yeah," she says. "You're definitely Bellamy."

*

Clarke is dressed as Rainbow Brite, which he wasn't expecting and finds surprisingly cute and kind of uncomfortably attractive, but he's trying not to dwell on that. He didn't think kids really still knew about that show, but she definitely gets better reception than he does, probably because it skews younger than Roman legion armor even if they don't know what she's from. And, like she said, all the kids know her.

But, like Raven said, he's across from her and has free candy, so it's not like they don't all come to him too. It's just very, very obvious that he's not as popular.

"I actually feel kind of bad about this," Clarke calls, during a lull.

"You know my self-esteem isn't tied to how much small children like me, right? But I might dress up as a cartoon character next year," he can't help adding. "Just because being recognized might be more fun."

"Sure," she says, but her expression softens immediately. "I really like your armor, though."

"There are probably cartoon characters who wear armor."

"That's the spirit."

"Also, at least I don't have to _pander_ to--"

A group of second graders comes in with their parents, so obviously he can't say what he was planning to say, and the night turns into the two of them doing their best to trash-talk across the hall without any students or parents noticing. It's his best Trick-or-Teach ever, and Trick-or-Teach was already basically his favorite thing.

At the end of the night, it's Raven who asks, "Have either of you guys been keeping up with how many kids you actually got, or are you just going to argue for the next five years about won?"

Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look. "Not five years," she says, careful.

"Yeah. We'll just argue for a year, and then next year comes around and we can start arguing about that instead."

"Jesus Christ," Raven mutters. "Glad you guys have a plan, I guess."

"Oh yeah," says Clarke, giving him a look he can't quite decipher. "I've definitely got it figured out."

*

Clarke knocks on his door the next day after school.

"Yeah?" he asks, surprised. He usually doesn't see her this often.

"Did you count how many pieces of candy you had left?"

He has to grin. "Sixteen."

"Eleven."

"We don't know we started off with the same amount."

"Sure we don't."

"And I wasn't pandering, so--"

She comes in and leans against his desk, giving him a smile. "I talked to Maya."

"Did I screw up her room?"

"She said she was sorry for bailing on Trick-or-Teach at the last minute," she says. "And that it's your event, and she knows how much it means to you."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Oh."

"It's your event?"

"It wasn't always safe for me to take O trick-or-treating when we were kids. It's a problem for kids here too, so--yeah. I figured it would be a good thing to have."

"It's a great idea." Her smile turns teasing. "I just didn't mean to show you up at your own party."

He snorts. "Yeah, you really did."

"Okay, yeah. But if I'd known, I would have rubbed it in your face more."

"We don't even know you won."

"But I did. And you haven't even given me my prize yet."

"Your prize? I was pretty sure we didn't agree on a prize."

She bites her lip, looks at him through her eyelashes. The invitation in her expression is unmistakable. "I get a treat, right?"

He swallows hard. "I do have sixteen candy bars left."

"Bellamy," she says, so _fond_ , and when she leans down, he meets her halfway.

"Guess it doesn't matter that you won," he murmurs, barely moving away from her mouth.

"Doesn't matter?" she demands, and she actually sounds _offended_. She's the best.

He laughs and kisses her again. "Doesn't matter at all. I wanted the same thing."

*

Next year, Clarke is Sailor Moon and Bellamy is Superman. Maya trades rooms with him again, and Raven looks generally disgusted.

"Isn't this supposed to be over now?" she asks. "You guys are dating. You shouldn't have any more sexual tension to work through."

"This isn't sexual tension," says Clarke. "This is--"

A group of kids come in, and Bellamy says, "Hey guys, come on over!" before she recovers. They all collect candy from him, and then Raven, and then Clarke, before running off with their parents trailing behind, murmuring thanks.

"This is an integral part of our relationship," Clarke finishes, once they're alone again.

"There is something wrong with your relationship," Raven mutters.

"Don't be jealous," says Bellamy, and holds up the white board he got to keep track of his total number of kids for Clarke.

She gives him a scowl that's trying very hard to not turn into a grin. "You're getting a trick this year," she informs him.

He doesn't even try not to smile. "Yeah. Looking forward to it."


	16. Monty/Miller: I got you for secret santa and I'm really struggling to get you a gift that is meaningful but not too meaningful because feelings

"So, this sucks," says Nate.

"Tell me about it." Bellamy pokes one of the displays with his pen, sending a bunch of bookmarks spinning.

Secret Santa is, in theory, a great idea. Nate likes it because it takes the pressure off his buying stuff for all his friends, and also gets rid of the weird reciprocity issue that exists where he has to decide who gets a present and who doesn't, based on his fairly nebulous friend group. He knows he'd get something for Bellamy, and for Octavia, and then it gets kind of awkward, where his feelings on getting things for people like Clarke and Lincoln and--

Monty. Monty would be the real issue. If he got something for Clarke, and she didn't get something for him, he wouldn't really give a shit, because if he got something for Clarke, it would mostly be because he saw something he thought she'd like. If she got something for him and he didn't have anything for her, he'd say he was a shitty friend, she'd punch him in the arm, and they'd move on. It would be awkward with someone like, say, Jasper, but he wouldn't actually _care_.

His favorite thing about Secret Santa is that it takes any stress of buying a present for Monty off the table, because he doesn't have to try to decide if he should get something for Monty, doesn't have to wonder what Monty will think if he does, won't try to read into if Monty gets him something or what it is. Instead, he can just buy for a random person and go on living his life.

Which worked much better in previous years, when he didn't _draw Monty_.

"At least we have a twenty-five dollar maximum," he tells Bellamy, consoling.

Bellamy got Clarke and is going through a similar crisis, because Bellamy is just as stupid over Clarke as he is over Monty. In a way, he's glad they're both going through the same thing, because it means they're on a shared downward spiral of overthinking and stupidity. 

Okay, it would definitely be better if one of them was talking the other down, but misery loves company.

"Yeah, it's hard to get that over-the-top with twenty-five bucks," Bellamy agrees. He rubs his face. "Fuck. I thought we rigged this so this didn't happen."

Nate snorts. "Who was going to rig it? I wasn't doing it. You weren't doing it. If anyone rigged it, it was so you _would_ get Clarke. Everyone we know wants that to happen."

"You'd think that would help, but it doesn't." He sighs. "So, what are you thinking?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It's Monty. He's easy to shop for. I see like fifty things a day I want to get him."

Bellamy smirks, which is rich. He's pretty sure Bellamy stocks stuff just because he thinks Clarke will like it, so he isn't allowed to say shit. 

Luckily, he sticks to, "So, you're spoiled for choice?"

"It can't be, like--it can't be _too_ good, right? I don't want it to be some romantic shit."

"Yeah, you do. You're so all-in on romantic shit."

Nate drops his forehead onto the counter, and Bellamy pets his head, consolingly. "Dude, you know exactly what I want. I want--"

"No romo," Bellamy agrees. "Unless he's into that. Ambiguously romo."

"Basically."

"Fuck Secret Santa," says Bellamy.

Nate sighs. "Fuck Secret Santa."

*

"Hey, can you help me with something?"

Monty came into Nate's friend group through Clarke, who came in through Octavia. When they met, Monty was dating a girl named Harper, and so Nate wrote him off, for all he was exactly Nate's type.

Then they broke up and he found out Monty was bisexual, and that was basically the end. But Nate's never been good at figuring out how to make a move, not on any level, and it's so much more tangled with Monty. First, there's the breakup, which means he can't make a move for a while, and then there's just--he doesn't know _how_. He tends to fall into relationships, which is great when it happens and useless until then.

So, in the meantime, he hangs out with Monty as much as he can and Bellamy laughs at him. It's not, really, a great solution.

But he takes what he can get.

"Sure," he says, smiling at Monty. "What's up?"

"Secret Santa."

Nate doesn't tense or freeze, he's pretty sure. He tends to be a pretty stoic guy; big emotional reactions aren't his thing. "What about it?" he asks.

"I got Bellamy, and I have no idea what to get him."

"Oh, shit, yeah," he says, and laughs. "God, Bellamy's a fucking nightmare to shop for. All he wants is books, and he already has like half of them. And he's a snob, so you have to find a book he likes he doesn't already have. Sorry, man."

Monty has the best laugh, and he always makes Nate smile with him, just by virtue of being so fucking _bright_. "Okay, that's what I thought. I was hoping you had some insider secrets I could use."

"Why do you think I love Secret Santa? I don't have to get anything for fucking Bellamy. I used to just buy him a six pack and call it a day."

"You think I could do that?"

"Probably kind of underwhelming for the Secret Santa."

"Probably." Monty worries his lip. "It's awkward if I ask who you got, right?"

"It's a _secret_ ," says Nate, and he laughs again.

"Yeah, I figured. Can I help?"

"Not really." But it's impossible to just leave it here. Monty's asking him for help. "I was going to go downtown to look for stuff on Saturday, though. You want to come?"

"Yeah, that would be great! I've got some other stuff to buy too. The internet is failing me."

"Man, that sucks. I'm sorry."

"I know, right? If I can't trust the internet, who can I trust?"

"I don't know. Have you seen reddit? I'm pretty sure we can't trust the internet."

"True. Like eleven on Saturday? We can get lunch and wander around and complain about capitalism."

"Awesome," says Nate. It feels like an understatement.

"Cool. It's a date."

Nate doesn't argue, but he does have to remind himself, very firmly, that it's not. Dates require slightly more work.

But it's still pretty fucking exciting.

*

"Can I just give him Clarke's number?" Monty asks. 

"He already has Clarke's number."

"It's symbolic."

"I think that's a symbolic gesture only Clarke can make. You could try to talk her into making it, I guess." He wets his lips. Monty is more Clarke's friend than he is. "She is into him, right? It's not just him."

Monty snorts. "Yeah. They're ridiculous. I don't know who they think they're fooling."

"At this point? Just each other."

"Maybe I could get them a date," Monty muses. "Like--I don't know. Is there a good gift certificate for under twenty-five bucks? Dinner? Movie tickets?"

"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him date it. He'd just take Octavia." But now he's thinking about it. "You know games, right?"

"Games?"

"Board games. You know if you got him something competitive, they'd get some stupid rivalry going."

Monty grins. "Oh wow, yeah. That's actually perfect."

"I think it's about as close as you can come to getting them a date, yeah."

"We can go to the game store after," Monty says, and then he tenses. "Uh, not that you have to come, if you don't want to."

"No. I could use some Magic cards, anyway."

"Cool." He worries his lip. "So, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. Anything you're hoping for?"

"Uh, I don't know. My parents usually just give me cash. I haven't bought Final Fantasy XV yet, maybe that." He wets his lips. "What about you?"

The pause feels too long, but it's probably his imagination. "A date," he finally says, and Nate's heart flips over.

"A date?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Shouldn't be that hard, right?"

"Nah," Nate agrees. "Not hard at all."

*

Bellamy gets Clarke a couple alcohol-themed adult coloring books, which is roughly the level of competence Miller was expecting, but she seems delighted, can't stop thumbing through and laughing at the pictures, and Bellamy, sitting next to her, beams with pride.

Monty got Bellamy a game he found called "Killer Snails: Assassins of the Sea," and of course that's a big hit too, Clarke snatching the rules and the two of them already planning to play after the gift exchange is finished. 

They're definitely going to work that out. No question.

Lincoln got Nate some Slytherin pajama bottoms, which are pretty great, and have absolutely no deeper meaning, which is just as well. Nate would definitely feel deeply uncomfortable if his best friend's sister's boyfriend was trying to hit on him via Secret Santa.

Monty goes last, for no reason that Monty can fathom except Jasper and Octavia are fucking with him. Which is probably the actual, honest-to-god reason. He never should have told Octavia that he drew Monty.

"I hope this is just a crisp, twenty-five-dollar bill," he tells Nate, when he pulls the plain white envelope out of the gift bag. It's not a surprise, that it's from him. Monty knows how the process of elimination works.

"I could have gotten away with giving you a twenty-five-dollar bill? Man, that would have saved me so much money."

"Ink is pretty expensive." He opens up the envelope and looks at the piece of paper, grin growing wider as he reads. "Laser tag?"

"You like laser tag, right?"

"I love it, yeah." He waits until the group has broken up, gotten down to the serious business of drinking, video games, and (for Clarke and Bellamy) Killer Snails, before he takes a seat next to Nate and says, "It's a laser tag game for two people."

"You did tell me exactly what you wanted," he says.

"Yeah. But I need someone else for it to be a date."

It's not subtle, and Nate feels pretty sure. "Yeah, well, I figured you could find someone. But I'm available. If you weren't going to ask anyone else."

"I definitely wasn't going to ask anyone else." He's grinning, and Nate doesn't really _grin_ , but that's just a personal preference. He registers his happiness in other ways, and Monty knows all his tells.

When he leans in for a kiss, Monty kisses back, and he hears the whoops of their friends, but he can't really care.

"That went a lot better than I thought," he says, when he pulls away.

Monty's still grinning. "What, the kissing?"

"The Secret Santa. I thought I was going to fuck it up."

"Nope, it was perfect." He kisses Nate again. "Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, you too."


	17. Clarke running into Bellamy out with Lincoln and his niece/nephew and thinking they're a couple

Running into Bellamy outside of work is one of those idle fantasies Clarke has, from time to time. It's not impossible, after all. They live in the same city, the work in the same place, and it's entirely possible that they will someday see each other in a non-work setting. Which she would like, because he's hot and fun to talk to to, but she doesn't get much of a chance to talk to him, most days. They're both teachers, but in different departments, with different schedules. They'll chat when they see each other, talk at staff meetings, and get along in her favorite way of getting along with people, which involves a lot of sarcasm and snark and general teasing. 

Plus, he's ridiculously hot. As a bonus.

So, yeah. Clarke sometimes hopes that she and Bellamy share some kind of hobby or go to the same gym or grocery store or something, and that they'll run into each other there. And then that could turn into some sort of actual, non-work relationship.

She guesses she could also just tell him she wants to hang out sometime, but that seems so _easy_. Obviously, relying on blind luck is the answer.

And it is, right up until she actually runs into Bellamy, and he's with his incredibly hot husband and adorable toddler.

He spots her first and grins, something bright and wide and perfect, and waves. He says something to his husband and then jogs over, still grinning.

"Hey." It's strange, seeing him dressed so casually, in a sweater and jeans, wearing a pair of glasses she's never seen before.

He also has a child, so she should not be noticing any of that. He's not allowed to be hot anymore. He's taken. She can find new eye candy.

"Hi," she says. Just because he's not going to date her doesn't mean she can't be polite. 

He laughs, looking kind of embarrassed. "Wow, uh--I just realized I ran over here and have absolutely nothing to say. I just didn't want to be rude."

"So, you ran away from your family to come see me, instead of introducing me. That seems normal."

He glances back over his shoulder, laughs again. "Oh, yeah. In hindsight, I handled this really poorly. You want to come meet Lincoln and Jada, or did I screw this up irreversibly?"

They're adorable, and it would be too petty even for her to refuse to meet her crush's husband and daughter, honestly. Plus, she wants to meet them. Bellamy seems to have pretty good taste in people.

"Not irreversibly. I think you can salvage it."

She follows him over to where the kid has settled into the sandbox with Bellamy's husband glancing between her and them, looking amused. He's giant enough Clarke's pretty sure he could benchpress both of them without breaking a sweat, and she wonders if there's any way she can high-five him for hitting the marriage jackpot without it being weird.

"Hey, this is Clarke," he tells Lincoln. "The art teacher. Clarke, Lincoln."

"Jada's a little young to do introductions very well, but I'm sure she's happy to meet you," says Lincoln, offering his hand. He has a gentler grip than she would have expected, just based on his size. "What kind of art do you teach?"

"Drawing and painting, mostly. I can advise on sculpture, but I'm not good at it. With high school, you just kind of do everything."

He nods. "I do some art myself. Less now, obviously. Jada takes up most of my time."

"Stay at home dad," Bellamy says."That's what you get."

"I'm not the one who failed to teach your sister about housework and caretaking," Lincoln says, dry. "And I have no intention of failing to pass those qualities on to my daughter."

"Hey, eff you, I tried," he shoots back. "I bought her one of those baby dolls that wets itself for her fourth birthday and she ripped the head off and put it on a spike in the yard."

"And these are the qualities I'm looking forward to _her_ passing on to our daughter," says Lincoln.

Clarke blinks, trying to catch up. "Um, just to clarify, whose daughter?"

"Uh, their daughter," Bellamy says, and it's kind of hilarious, watching the way color rushes up his neck. "Oh, fuck. This is my _brother-in-law_. Lincoln. And my niece."

"No swearing in front of Jada," Lincoln says, mild.

"I'll put a quarter in her college fund." He's giving Clarke a kind of sheepish smile. "I forgot I don't brag about my niece to literally everyone I meet."

Lincoln is smiling. "I'm shocked to find out as well."

"If she was my daughter, I definitely would. I'm just on like ninety-percent of people right now."

The girl toddles over and tugs on Bellamy's leg. "Unca Bell," she says, and his smile is allowed to melt her heart now, since this is his brother-in-law. 

"I'm on sandcastle duty," he says, apologetic. "Uh, it was really good to see you? I assume you have stuff to do?"

She sort of does; she was taking the long way to do her errands because it's a nice day, but it's not like the store is going anywhere. It'll be open for hours.

"Is it creepy if I play in the sand with you? That actually sounds really relaxing right now."

"Totally creepy," he says, but his smile is warm. "I don't think she minds company."

Bellamy lets Jada drag him to the middle of the sandbox, and Clarke sits on the side with Lincoln, watching the two of them.

"I would have mentioned I was his brother-in-law, if I hadn't thought you knew," he says, after a minute. "I'd heard about you, but I also should have realized you might not have heard about me."

Clarke bites her smile. "What did you hear about me?"

"Normal, colleague things," he says, straight-faced. 

Bellamy ran over to say hi to her without any plan beyond that and has mentioned her to his brother-in-law. Plus, he's adorably good with his niece. This is absolutely the best day ever.

"Obviously," she says. "I was a little disappointed. When I thought he was introducing me to his husband and adorable daughter."

"No. He just likes to come to the park with us. And I'm sure they could use sandcastle help. I won't be offended. This is a break for me, but don't let me keep you." 

"I don't want to make Jada uncomfortable."

"She's very friendly, she won't mind." He pauses and says, "He'll be happy to have you. Not that I'm meddling."

"Obviously not." She brushes her hands on her jeans. "I could be friendly."

"Please."

She sits down in the sand next to Bellamy, across from Jada, and he smiles. "Jada, this is Clarke."

She's too young to get it too much, but she looks up and then back down quickly, and Clarke says, "Nice to meet you."

"I really won't be offended if you leave," Bellamy offers, quiet. "I just wanted to say hi."

He's so fucking cute. "That's a shame. Because I wanted to hang out with you."

"Oh." His own eyes flick to her before going back to the sand. "Well, uh--good." He wets his lips. "Did I mention I'm single? And just hang out with my sister's kid on weekends because I'm a really great uncle and model citizen who would make a great boyfriend? I feel like I didn't mention that."

She laughs. "No, somehow you've never mentioned that. I'm amazed it doesn't come up more in conversation."

"Yeah, I was kind of working on it. Just, you know, casual." His and Jada's castle is getting pretty high, and the girl climbs into Bellamy's lap to get higher. Clarke can't help but smile at the unconscious way his hands come up to steady her. 

"Very casual." She puts a leaf on top of her own small sand castle. "How does the rest of uncle day look?"

"Once Jada gets sleepy, she'll go home," he says, wrapping his arms around his niece, making her squeal with laughter. "You getting sleepy, nugget?"

"No!" she says, squirming in his arms. "I'm building!"

"So, a little longer," Bellamy says. He lets her go and shifts a little closer to Clarke. "Uh, yeah. I'm free after this. What were you doing?"

"I was taking the long way to the store. Getting something for dinner."

"Restaurants are also an option for dinner. I know a couple good ones."

She bumps her shoulder against his. "Yeah. I could do a restaurant."

*

It's almost eight months later, late July, when they run into Ms. McIntyre at the zoo. Bellamy has Jada on his shoulders, and Clarke's fingers are laced with his. 

They're not _hiding_ their relationship at school, it just hasn't come up much. They both tend to be quiet about their personal lives, and Harper only started this year and teaches in the middle school, so she doesn't know either of them that well.

Clarke feels a little bad about how hilarious she finds it, watching her trying to parse the situation. Bellamy at least seems to realize, because he takes point on the conversation while Clarke is trying not to laugh.

"Hey, Jada, this is Ms. McIntyre, she's a teacher too. Harper, this is my niece."

"Oh," says Harper, practically deflating with relief. "Sorry, I was--I thought I would have heard if you guys were married."

Clarke recovers enough to squeeze Bellamy's fingers and say, "Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure we won't be able to keep that one quiet."

Harper laughs. "Yeah, I guess not. Have fun with your niece."

Once she's gone, Bellamy glances down at Clarke. "We aren't going to be able to keep our marriage quiet, huh?"

"I assume you'll get me a ring. Someone's bound to notice."

He grins and leans down for a quick kiss, in spite of his general distaste for PDA. "Yeah, you're right. They'll figure it out."


	18. Unexpected pregnancy AU

"So, I'm trying to come up with a fun, creative way to tell you I'm pregnant," Clarke says, light, like this is a conversation starter that she uses all the time. Like this is just a normal part of life. "But that's weirder when you're not the dad, right?"

Bellamy takes a moment, and then says, "You could have made me one of those cakes with the M&Ms inside. Then I'd have cake."

"Yeah, but I don't know the gender yet, because I'm just, like, eight weeks in. I guess I could have gotten a cake with a creepy baby in it, but I didn't think of that."

"And then I would have just thought it was Mardi Gras." He wets his lips. "I'm doing this right, right? You wanted casual."

She leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. "Honestly, I don't know what I want. I wanted someone else to know. And I'm going to need to talk it through, when I'm ready."

"Well, I know," he says. "And we can talk whenever." It's not _weirder_ to put his arm around her, when she's pregnant. It's not like it wasn't weird before, when they weren't dating and he was in love with her and she'd cuddle into his side. She's not in a relationship, and the pregnancy was an accident, so it's exactly as weird as it always was.

Besides, she needs someone to hold her and be there for her. Bellamy's been that guy for almost as long as he's known her. He wants to always be that guy.

"I was thinking Netflix, for now," she says, soft.

"Netflix works for me."

She settles in more firmly against his side, curled up tighter than she's ever been before, and he kisses her hair and holds on just as tight.

Clarke came into his life through his sister, which is strange for him. Not because he doesn't know plenty of people through Octavia, but because most of them drop out of his life once they drop out of O's. With Octavia living across the country, he knows her current friend group by name and from stories, but he never sees Harper or Fox, even though they're still local.

Clarke and O met in college, although O was at UMass and Clarke was at Smith. When they both moved to Boston after graduation, they started living together out of practicality, and because Bellamy was around all the time anyway, and they were pretty much friends, he took O's place in their apartment after she got her new job in California.

It was a great idea, because Clarke is honestly his best friend (sorry, Miller) and his favorite person, but that's also what made it a terrible idea. His only hope had been that living with her would be awful, and it would kill his crush. It didn't even seem impossible, as things to hope for; Clarke's kind of a nightmare, as roommates go, messy and disorganized, grumpy on the rare occasions she wakes up early and prone to falling asleep in weird places.

But he's never had so little trouble living with anyone in his life. So it was one of the worst decisions he's ever made, probably.

And now she's pregnant.

"I assume you're going to tell me when you want to talk about this," he tells her, an hour or so later. She looks halfway asleep.

"I know I have to deal with it eventually."

"Yes and no." She pushes herself up and looks at him, and he smiles. "If you don't do anything, you'll stop being pregnant in like--" She said eight weeks. "Seven months or so. It's a problem that will deal with itself if you don't do anything."

She laughs, like he knew she would. That's what he can do for her right now; he can make her smile. "That's one of the options, yeah."

"I wasn't trying to start this conversation if you're not ready," he tells her, gentle. "You've got plenty of time. But if you want me to talk to you about it if you haven't brought it up in a week or something--"

Her smile turns grateful. "I think I should be good in a couple days. But yeah, if I haven't mentioned it in a week, you should ask."

"Will do. One more episode or bed?"

She settles back against him. "One more episode. Thanks."

*

It's only the next day when Clarke says, conversationally, "So, I want to keep it, but that's not really my call."

"Why not?" he asks, taking a deliberate sip of coffee.

"Because I live with you. It's not just keeping a baby, it's figuring out a lot of other stuff. Stuff that matters to you." 

"That matters to me," he repeats, surprised.

"Yeah. I'd have to move out, or you'd have to live with a baby. I know you're not going to tell me not to have it," she adds, quickly. "But I'm talking to you about this because your opinion does matter, Bellamy. I wouldn't get a pet without asking you, and this is a way bigger deal. I'm not going to make you be a father."

"No, you're not," he says, but he gets it, and she's not _wrong_. If she has a baby and lives here, it's going to be his, like it would be if she got a cat or a dog. He doesn't know how to not love things, and this would be a _baby_. Her baby. The baby that lives with them. Both of them. 

"Have you told the father?" he asks, once he's gotten past the lump in his throat.

"No. I don't--it was a mistake," she says. "I shouldn't have slept with him. He was just--there. And I was feeling lonely." Her smile is wry. "It's not really the kind of decision that makes me feel like I should have a kid. Fuck, I don't even have his number."

"That's not really a sign you'll be a shitty mom. You'll be fine, Clarke. And if you want to keep the kid, we'll figure it out."

"Figure it out," she repeats.

"I like kids," he says, which does seem a little too dismissive of her concerns. "If you want to have one, I'm with you. As much as you want me to be."

She crosses her arms on her chest, looking angrier than he was really expecting. "You don't have to do that."

"Of course I don't."

"You don't want to do that."

His eyebrows go up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know you mostly raised Octavia," she says. "I know you--I know you like kids. But this is--it wasn't fair of your mom to ask you to do what she did, Bellamy. And I can't ask you to do it again. You'd be living here, you couldn't get away from it. You can't want that."

It's a very surreal argument, Bellamy has to admit. He feels like he's missing her half of it. "What do you want?" he finally asks. "If it's to have the kid, that's cool. I'm with you. You're the one making it about me. What do you want me to tell you? Not to have it because I don't want to deal with it?"

"Of course not," she says. She catches her lip, looks at him. "I don't want to be an asshole."

"Too late." He props himself against the counter. "You're not an asshole for wanting to keep the baby."

"No, I'm not an asshole for that." She breathes out. "Do you know what I really want?"

"Not at all. This conversation is incredibly confusing."

She doesn't even smile. "You." He frowns, not sure where she's going with this one. "I know you'd stay. I know you'd help. And that sounds--god, you have no idea how good that sounds, okay? I've seen this romantic comedy. I have a kid and my hot, perfect best friend helps out and we fall in love. But I'm not going to _get_ that, so I don't know how to just live here when you--"

"Uh." He's still trying to catch up."You want to have a baby and we fall in love?" he finally asks. 

"I told you it was stupid."

"No, you didn't. You never said it was stupid." He bites the corner of his mouth, not letting himself get his hopes up. Which doesn't even make _sense_ , since she seems to be confessing that she--

Fuck. She can't really be saying that, right?"

"So, you want this to be a romantic comedy thing where the baby brings up all these feelings we didn't know we had?"

"Just you," she says. "I knew about the feelings."

That's all he needs; he pushes off the counter, crosses the kitchen in two long strides, and kisses her, hands cupping her cheeks, mouth firm. It's still terrifying, for a second, but she responds instantly, arms around his neck, so warm and eager. 

He's making out with Clarke in their kitchen, and it's just as awesome as he always hoped it would be. If he wakes up in his bed after this, he is going to sue the entire universe.

"Um," she says, and he rests his forehead on hers, just breathing a second.

"Yeah, uh--I knew too." This kiss is brief. "I don't really want to wait until the baby shows up to tell you I love you. I've been wanting to tell you for years."

"Oh." She laughs, buries her face against his neck. "Yeah, but--a baby is still a lot."

"But you want it."

"I want it. Do you?"

"We can have sex until your third trimester, right?"

"Something like that." She pulls back, trying to scowl at him, but her grin is winning out. "That's what you care about? How long we can have sex?"

"Sorry, do you not want to get laid? Just because you had sex two months ago doesn't mean I did."

"I feel like there's probably more we need to talk about," she says. "It's a really big decision." 

"Yeah," he agrees. "But we don't have to make it right this minute, right?" 

"Because you want to get laid."

"Not just that." He smiles. "But if we want to make this work, we should be smart. We shouldn't just rush into it. Maybe we're totally incompatible or something."

She snorts. "Yeah, I was really worried about that."

"Seriously, we should think about it. You don't need a baby for the whole rom-com thing. We're covered. But--I'm with you. Every step. No matter what." 

"Okay, that was the hottest thing I've ever heard." She tugs him down for a kiss. "You're right. Baby later, sex now."

He laughs. "Yeah, I tried to tell you."

*

"See?" says Bellamy, leaning in close to let the baby grab his finger. "Like I said, don't do anything, and seven months later, you're not pregnant any more."

"I love you, but if you ever say being pregnant isn't doing anything again, I will punch you in the dick."

"Okay, got it. Not the time to make cute jokes about how we got together."

"Definitely not." She smiles. "She's pretty cute."

"She is." He kisses Clarke's hair. "Can I say I'm glad some guy I've never met knocked you up without getting punched in the dick?"

"Wait until the first time she wakes you up in the middle of the night."

"Trust me, I'm never going to stop being glad."

"Sap," she says, but she's leaning into him. 

"You just had our kid. I get to be sappy."

"Our kid." Her eyes slide shut. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Me too."


	19. Distracting kiss aka inept video game flirting

The first time Clarke kisses Bellamy, it's junior year and they're playing Mario Party.

It's not the first time she's _thought_ about kissing him; in fact, it's the result of careful thought, and a lot of planning, and some scheming. Most of the apparently spontaneous gestures in Clarke's life come after the mental equivalent of an exhaustive pro/con list. Which is, granted, a little weird, but she's never been good at living in the moment. But other people are more comfortable thinking she's being impulsive.

So when she kisses Bellamy, it's not because she's carried away with happiness because they won their stupid 2-vs-2 Mario Party minigame. It's because it's possible that she _could_ be carried away with happiness, and it's an opportunity to test his reaction.

It's not even that much of a kiss, honestly. She hugs his arm and presses her lips against his cheek and says, "We won!"

"You always get that excited when you win?" he asks, dry. As reactions go, it's not one that gives her much to go on.

"I'm in the lead now."

"Yeah, but it's Mario Party. Everything's made up and the points don't matter. You could be in fourth next turn."

"Haven't you ever heard of taking what you can get? Why would you _not_ celebrate every minor Mario Party victory? Otherwise you're just playing Mario Party. And everyone knows Mario Party sucks."

He makes a show of thinking it over, and then he puts his arm around her and presses a sloppy kiss to her temple. "Fine. Congratulations, Clarke."

She cuddles in against his side, since his arm is still around her. "See? It's totally worth celebrating."

"Uh huh," he agrees. "Totally."

*

"So, kissing Bellamy is a thing now?"

"It's normal," Clarke says, firm, not looking at Raven. "Friends do that. Kissing on the cheek. It's not even a real kiss."

"Wow. I'm glad you already had that one figured out. Are you kissing other people so it looks normal, or are you not that deranged yet?"

"I haven't had anything to celebrate with anyone else."

"Uh huh," says Raven. "Sure." She pauses. "You know, there's this thing normal people do with crushes."

"Ignore them and hope they go away?"

"Okay, yeah, that's a pretty popular one," she admits. "I was thinking the other one, where you just ask him out. But it's not like you're ignoring it either. You're doing your dumbass flirting thing, which, whatever, have fun, but it's really obvious and everyone knows exactly what's going on."

"Bellamy doesn't."

"As someone who's slept with Bellamy, here's some advice: subtlety really doesn't work. I had to just start taking off clothes for him to get with the program."

"That's because you were rebounding and he's not an asshole."

"Still. This whole cute displays of affection thing? He's going to act like it's exactly as normal as you do. So don't say I didn't warn you."

"I can't just ask him," she says, dropping her head onto Raven's shoulder. "It's not like I just want to fuck him."

"I know." She pets Clarke's head. "But it's not like he just wants to fuck you, either."

*

The touching becomes a standard part of their gaming experience. When they're competing, they jostle each other's shoulders, add kicking and elbowing to their usual trash talking. When they're on the same team and win, they'll celebrate after, Clarke leaning into his side, pecking his cheek, Bellamy putting his arm around her and grinning.

It's about a month later, during Mario Kart, when she tries to kick him and her foot slides up, under the hem of his jeans, stroking over his calf, and he jerks and drives off the track in surprise.

Which was, honestly, more of the reaction she was hoping for, when she kissed him the first time. 

He freezes, watches the TV with the kind of intensity he only ever has when he's ignoring something else, and she bites back on a smile.

Two races later, he slides his arm around her waist, fingers dipping under the hem of her shirt, and she crashes into Jasper.

"You're not even playing," she hisses, not looking at him either.

"Just wanted to see what would happen," he murmurs, way too close. He slides in, leaves his hand there, warm against her skin, and once she gets used to it, she leans back into him.

*

It's not the kind of thing they can really escalate, not because she doesn't want to--she really wants to--but because all their friends are around when they're doing it, and she realizes there is a limit to the amount of weird flirting anyone else should be forced to witness. So they get into this pattern, when they get together for video games, trying to sneak in weird, distracting touching along with their regular, friend stuff.

No one's fooled, she's pretty sure, but they're at least not so blatant that anyone else calls them out on it. Raven knows exactly what's happening, but she's said her piece, and it's not like Clarke doesn't know what's happening.

Which is why, when Raven is busy with homework, Jasper has a date, and Monty finally asked Bellamy's friend Miller out, which means that they have no actual plans to hang out as a group. Bellamy probably has studying of his own, but it's worth _asking_.

 **Me** : I want to play video games tonight

 **Bellamy** : I want a pony

 **Me** : I don't think you really do  
Where would you keep a pony?  
What would you do with it?

 **Bellamy** : What WOULDN'T I do with it?  
Why are you telling me you want to play video games?

 **Me** : Because everyone else is busy and I don't have a console  
You do  
Can I come over?

 **Bellamy** : Oh  
Yeah  
Sure  
I figured you just played video games with Raven when you were bored

 **Me** : She has a problem set to do  
But if you don't want to nbd

 **Bellamy** : No, no  
Definitely  
Come over whenever

 **Me** : Want pizza?

 **Bellamy** : Always  
Get mushrooms

Clarke isn't alone with Bellamy that often, which is another thing she's working on. Or trying to work on. They met through Raven, who fucked him after the whole Finn thing and then decided to keep him. Clarke spent a good six months telling herself he was an asshole, and then another three months after that telling herself she wasn't attracted to him, because obviously Raven _was_ , and the last thing she wanted to do was fall for another guy Raven was into.

Even after Raven told her she wasn't actually interested in dating Bellamy, and after Raven started dating Gina, Clarke never really figured out how to hang out with him, just the two of them. 

Sometimes, she feels like everyone else in college must have gone to some seminar about how to get in relationships, and she just got someone else's really shitty notes. It would explain some things about her relationship history.

Bellamy must not have been planning to do anything tonight, because when he opens the door, he's already wearing his pajamas and his glasses, a sure sign that he has no interest in socializing.

"You could have told me not to come," she says.

"I could have. So clearly the fact that I didn't is a sign that I wanted you here." His mouth twitches, half a smile. "Almost like I like you or something."

"Almost like that," she agrees. "Or you like pizza."

"Or both."

She follows him into the living room and flops down on the couch; there's a few seconds pause before he joins her, not sitting nearly as close as he would if their friends were around. Of course, when their friends are around, there's a lot less room on the couch.

 _Plausible deniability_ should be the tagline for their entire friendship, probably.

"So, uh--what did you want to play?"

"Something fun. What do you think?"

He gives her a look. "This was your idea, you know. You were the one who wanted to play something. I figured you had a preference."

"Nope. I just figured I'd rather hang out with you than be alone tonight."

"Oh," he says. There's definitely some color on his neck. "Okay, uh--yeah. Sounds good. I guess we could actually play something two-player for once, since it's just us."

"So, something I've never played before so you have the advantage?"

He smirks. "Sorry, did you want a handicap?"

"You already have the home-court advantage, so--"

"Fine," he says. "Miller has a bunch of weird Japanese fighting games, I don't know what the fuck is happening in those. That makes us even, right?"

"Sounds great." She grins. "Bring it."

By the second game, they're back to their usual level of closeness on the couch, just because they keep moving closer and closer together so they can--well, flirt. It's flirting. It's completely and totally flirting, the way Bellamy jostles her elbow, the way she pushes hard into his side.

He puts his arm over her eyes, and she slides her toes up his leg. She knocks his hand with her knee, and he tickles her foot.

She bites his shoulder, and tension ratchets up his body. She's worried she's gone too far for a minute, but he hasn't stopped playing the dumb game, so she figures that's something.

And then, right when she's about to kill him, he leans in and presses his lips against her neck, firm and warm, stubble brushing her skin, making her shiver and actually drop the controller. He doesn't take advantage of it, though, just watches her carefully, eyes scanning her face as she breathes.

"Yeah," she says, to the question he didn't actually ask, and he grins and kisses her on the mouth this time, just as warm, and she's glad she already dropped the controller, so she can slide her arms around his neck instead.

"Yeah?" he murmurs.

"Obviously," she says, and presses closer.

She hears the voice of the announcer on the TV announce a KO, and she bites Bellamy's bottom lip, hard, when he smiles again.

"You were still playing?"

"Someone had to win." He puts his own controller down and tugs her into his lap. "Besides, what's the good of a distraction if I don't take advantage of it?"

"I was hoping it had something else going for it," she says, brushing her lips against his again.

"I just don't want you thinking I'm going to let you win just because I like you."

"I never thought that," she says. "I just need to be more distracting."

He noses her neck and kisses her there again. "Yeah," he says. "Please."

*

The general consensus, once they start dating, is that their friends really, really do not want to play video games with them.

"Even we don't use Mario Kart as foreplay, and we're way bigger nerds than you guys are," Monty says, sounding a little awed.

"Don't blame your inferior sex life on us," Bellamy says. "That's your problem. And we can totally keep our hands to ourselves," he adds, but he sounds more thoughtful than offended.

It's an interesting statement for Clarke too. "Can we?" she asks.

"If we wanted to," he says.

"Yeah, that would be the issue," she agrees, and snuggles into his side. 

"Disgusting," says Raven, and it's not like Clarke _disagrees_. They're definitely disgusting now, and will continue to be disgusting for a while.

It's just really hard for her to mind all that much.


	20. Clarke tells Bellamy they should go out to dinner on Valentine's Day just to watch all the other bad Valentine's Day dates and then oops! Feelings!

Bellamy really tried to not hate Valentine's Day. Mostly because it's the kind of thing everyone _expects_ him to hate. He has a reputation for being kind of a cynical, grumpy asshole, and hating Valentine's Day would tie into that way too perfectly. Hating _Easter_ (which he does) is weird and unexpected; hating Valentine's Day is just cliched.

"You have put way too much thought into this," Clarke says, amused. "Also, you _do_ hate Valentine's Day, so it's not even working. You've put hours into justifying why you're not like this, except that you're actually like this."

"Yeah, but--with good reason," he grumbles. "I earned it, okay? I've had a lot of shitty Valentine's Days. It's justified."

"Just like hating Easter."

"Slightly more justified than hating Easter," he admits.

"Yeah? Okay, hit me."

"My first girlfriend broke up with me on Valentine's Day because I bought her a stuffed teddy bear and she wanted a unicorn."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"That's actually adorable."

"Yeah, well, when I was nineteen, my mom died. On Valentine's Day."

She pauses, makes a face. "Fine, I can't laugh at that."

"Glad we found the limit to your assholeishness. O's ex-boyfriend Atom broke up with _her_ on Valentine's Day too, and she blamed me for like a year."

"Because you scared him off?"

"Look, if I could scare him off that easily they weren't going to work out, right?" he asks, and Clarke laughs.

"Fair enough."

"Look, I've never had a good Valentine's Day. Either I'm in a relationship and there's all this stupid bullshit pressure I can't live up to, or I'm not in a relationship and my best-case scenario is that it's boring. Worst is that my mom dies or I get in another fight with my sister."

"Okay, yeah. That's a lot more legit than _visited a scary Easter bunny when I was a kid_."

"I can't believe I told you that," he grumbles.

"Neither can I. You really should have thought that through. But, the good news is, I have the perfect Valentine's Day plan."

"Yeah?"

"So, my friend Maya just got a new job at this fake fancy restaurant."

"What the fuck is fake fancy?" he asks, dubious. "How do you fake being fancy?"

Okay, maybe not _fake_ ," she corrects. "But one of those places that looks nice but isn't actually that expensive? And they just got a cancellation and she offered us the table."

"Uh," he says, caught completely off guard. "Your perfect Valentine's Day plan is a date? I hate to break it to you, but that's not really a new concept."

"Not a date," she says, and he doesn't let himself react to that. "Think of it as--dinner theater. These are going to be people on really terrible Valentine's dates, Bellamy."

"Because it's a fake fancy restaurant?"

"It's the kind of restaurant people pick it for a date because they think it'll be, like--classy. But the food sucks and the wine is way too expensive, so it's just going to cause fights. It'll be fun."

"Fun," he repeats.

"Come on. You can't tell me you don't want to watch a bunch of people having shitty dates and hating Valentine's Day as much as you do."

Honestly, what he really wants to do is have a nice dinner with his roommate/favorite person/crush, but it's not like people having shitty Valentine's dates isn't a great bonus.

"Are you paying?" he asks.

"Are you putting out?" she shoots back.

"If you pay, sure."

"Awesome. Wear something sexy."

*

Clarke and Maya went to college together and Bellamy's only vaguely friends with her, but even though she's frazzled and clearly stressed, she still manages a smile and a quick _hi_ , and when she comes to grab their order, she actually looks calm and professional.

"You're so good at this," Clarke says, and Maya laughs.

"Thanks. Hi, Bellamy. Nice to see you."

"Good to see you too. Thanks for the table."

"Honestly, I really needed some friendly faces, so I'm glad you guys could come. I keep getting douchey guys who think being a dick to me will impress their dates."

"Wow. I can't believe I missed out on that flirtation technique." He smiles at her. "If you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend who doesn't like you being disrespected at any point, just let me know."

Maya laughs. "I think I'd get fired. But thanks for the offer. Can I start you guys with drinks?"

They order water and Maya promises to bring them one of the cheaper, better wines, and he's afraid it's going to get awkward after that. He and Clarke eat together all the time, but they don't go _out_ very often. It's usually just him cooking for them and the two of them eating it on the couch while they yell at Jeopardy, and that feels a lot less-- _significant_. Than being at a restaurant on Valentine's Day.

Then Clarke nudges his foot with hers, leans in and says, "Table at your seven o'clock."

"I've honestly never understood how that works. Where's my seven o'clock?"

"Behind you, to your left. I'm sitting across from you, so I'd be on your twelve, by the way. Do you need me to explain how it works?"

"I'll live, thanks." He glances behind him on the pretense of cracking his neck. The couple are doing that low, angry talking thing where they're trying to make it look like they aren't arguing even though they obviously are. "Huh," he says, turning his attention back to Clarke.

"This is why I don't do Valentine's Day."

He snorts. "No, you don't do Valentine's Day because you found out you were the other woman in a relationship on Valentine's Day. And then you and Lexa had--something, right?"

"Lexa hated Valentine's Day because it was a corporate sham that exploited everyone else's inadequate feelings."

"Yeah, that seems healthy," he mutters, and she kicks him.

"I'm not saying that's why we broke up, but holidays with her were a minefield, so I don't miss it." She props her chin on her hand, watching him. "I don't like how people get about Valentine's Day. No one is just--casual about it."

"Casual?"

"It's a day. If everyone in the relationship wants to celebrate it, cool, you can have fun. But everyone's either really, really weirdly invested or really, really against it. It's stupid. Like--the couple to your right. The guy bought a stuffed animal, a necklace, and he sprung for a really expensive bottle of wine. And that's nice, I guess, but--"

"Overkill."

"Basically."

"So, what's your ideal Valentine's Day?"

"Takeout and a movie," she says, prompt.

"Yeah, uh, that's your ideal _every_ day."

"That's because it's always perfect." 

It's shit like this that makes Bellamy's life complicated, because it would probably be easy to fall out of love with her, if he really thought he didn't have a chance. But sometimes they'll talk about what they want, and it always sounds like the same thing.

It always sounds a lot like what they've got, but with making out.

"Oh shit," says Clarke. "I think that guy's proposing."

"Jesus. In a restaurant on Valentine's Day?"

Her mouth twitches. "Maybe it's meaningful for them. Like--they had their first date here. On Valentine's Day. It could be romantic."

"It could. Are you seriously arguing for romance when you dragged me here to laugh at people?"

"I have layers." Maya stops by with a complimentary appetizer, because she's still very grateful they're here, and they put in their orders. "What's your ideal Valentine's Day?"

"Get dinner like a week later if we want to celebrate," he says. "Restaurants on Valentine's Day are the worst."

"But you're here," she says.

He shrugs, a little awkward. It's true, but also feels kind of beside the point. "You were so excited."

He smile goes soft. "And we're having fun, right?"

"I think that couple is breaking up," he says. "Best Valentine's Day ever."

*

Over their appetizer, they come up with a drinking game for the rest of the night. One sip of wine for any gifts of jewelry, two for engagement rings. One sip for someone crying in happiness, one sip for a breakup. An additional sip if someone who was earlier crying in happiness breaks up with their significant other later. Three sips for broken crockery.

Oddly enough, the whole thing makes him feel a lot better about the holiday. They take a lot more drinks for good dates than bad, and it's kind of weirdly heart-warming. Valentine's is never going to be _his_ favorite holiday, but it's nice that other people enjoy it.

He's pleasantly tipsy and full of affection--for the universe in general and Clarke in particular--when Maya comes back over with a piece of chocolate lava cake.

"The guy who ordered it got dumped and left before dessert," she says. "I figured you guys could have it."

"You're the best," says Clarke. "Make sure you charge us for it, okay?"

"Will do. Enjoy. Happy Valentine's Day, guys."

"Are we sure this isn't a date?" Bellamy muses, once she's gone. He doesn't really mean to be _asking_ ; he just tends to think out loud when he's drunk. And it's a valid question. Maya might have set them up. It's plausible.

To his surprise, Clarke freezes, hand halfway to the cake. It's just for a second, but given Clarke's self-control, even a second of hesitation is telling.

"Aren't we?" she asks. Her voice is just a little off.

Suddenly, his interest isn't academic at all. "Dinner. Wine. Dessert. It's Valentine's Day. Those are all pretty good date indicators."

Her pause is deliberate, and when she looks at him, he doesn't let himself look away. Their feet are close under the table--they keep nudging each other to look at things--and when she presses her foot against his leg, he smiles and lets himself take her hand. 

She brightens like the sun coming up. "It is a lot like a date," she says. "Maya told me I should bring my boyfriend."

"And you brought me."

"Like everyone you talk to doesn't assume I'm your girlfriend."

"I usually correct my friends." He squeezes her fingers. "And then they realize I'm in love with you and switch from thinking you're my girlfriend to thinking I'm an idiot."

"Those definitely aren't mutually exclusive," she says. He can't tear his gaze away from her smile or let go of her, even though their cake is getting cold.

"What?"

"Me being your girlfriend and you being an idiot."

"Yeah, I figured I'd keep being an idiot." He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. "I'm not buying you a teddy bear, though."

She laughs. "I bet we could get the cake to go and eat on the couch watching Netflix."

"I bet we could."

They're still holding hands when they leave, so once they're out, he tugs her in, presses a kiss against her lips.

Right on cue, it starts to snow, and Clarke groans and buries her face against his neck.

"We have the most cliche how-we-got-together story of all time now, don't we?"

"Basically." He wraps his arms around her. "But I don't think I hate Valentine's Day anymore."

"It's like I don't even know you." 

"I know."

"But you still hate Easter, right?"

"Yeah, fuck Easter."

She laughs. "Okay, perfect. Home?"

That word has never sounded better. "Yeah," he agrees. "Home."


End file.
